


here comes a hurricane

by herax



Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Cal Kestis, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Torture, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23119381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herax/pseuds/herax
Summary: Before he can make it back to Bogano to open the vault, Cal is re-captured by Sorc Tormo and the Haxion Brood, who are determined to get their money from him, one way or another.
Relationships: BD-1 & Cal Kestis, Cal Kestis & Merrin, Cere Junda & Cal Kestis, Greez Dritus & Cal Kestis
Comments: 94
Kudos: 240





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at a longer fic for this fandom! This is set before the end of the game but after Cal recruits Merrin to join the crew aboard the Mantis.
> 
> Thank you to rachelrose40 for the suggestion and to filo for helping me poke at ideas. <3 (Also does anyone know if there's a JFO discord anywhere? >_>)

“Hey, Krosh! Tell the boss the Jedi’s awake!”

Cal has his doubts about the person’s definition of ‘awake’ but he cracks one eye open with a wince as he looks in the direction of the voices. The acrid smell of burning lingers in his nose from the sparking net of electricity that engulfed him, and his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth when he lets out a quiet groan of pain.

Expecting to find himself back in that dismal underground prison — after all, if the method of capture worked successfully a second time, why not use the same method of containment — Cal frowns when his vision clears enough to see the solid grey walls around him. 

Based on the distant hum of the engine, he’s on a ship, and a big one at that, but his jolt of panic that he’s been handed over to the Empire fades when he sees the guard outside bearing the crest of the Haxion Brood.

The guard, a tall trandoshan, looks him over through the yellow shimmer of the forcefield and flashes him a sharp-toothed grin. “That shock-headache’s a bitch, huh, Jedi?”

He isn’t wrong. Cal’s head swims as he pushes himself up to a sitting position, taking in the metal cuffs trapping his wrists in front of him and the missing weight on his hip where his lightsaber previously rested. He can feel the phantom crackle of the net against his skin and he tries to disguise his wince when his head pounds with every breath.

“I guess asking for another few hours of sleep isn’t going to work,” Cal says, glancing around his cell. 

The trandoshan just laughs, and Cal tamps down his anger as he tries to keep his voice light. “You know what happened to my droid? Square little guy, must’ve been with me when I was captured.”

“Yeah, we had him up here but the little shit wouldn’t stop beeping at us whenever we went near you,” the trandoshan says with a shrug. “Krosh ended up dumping him in a crate in the storage bay somewhere, just to shut him up.”

Cal grits his teeth and reminds himself that it could be worse; at least BD-1 is still on the ship and hasn’t been harvested for parts. As such, he settles for just nodding as he peers out past the forcefield, trying to learn anything more about his surroundings. 

“Where am I?” he asks, dragging himself up to his feet. “Last time the Brood caught me, I got dumped in some rocky jail near an arena. This seems like an upgrade.”

The trandoshan frowns. “Wait, you’ve been caught before?”

Cal frowns too. He figured that was common news by now. “Yes?”

“And you, what? Escaped?”

“Yep.”

“Nobody killed you?”

Cal looks down at his still very alive body. “No?”

The trandoshan whistles. “Damn. I’m guessing the boss will be looking to fix that. People don’t usually escape from the Brood.” 

He looks Cal over with newfound respect. “What happened? You use that Jedi mind thing to convince someone to let you go? Or did you not even need to do that? Drort always was a sucker for redheads.”

“No,” Cal says firmly. He doesn’t know who Drort is and would prefer to keep it that way. “There was a fight. Down in the arena on Ordo Eris.” He can’t quite keep the pride out of his voice. “I won.”

“Nice,” the trandoshan says, sounding genuinely impressed. “Man, I’m sorry I missed that. Came down with an awful case of nebellia last month; had to sit out a bunch of shifts.”

Not used to his jailers sharing their medical histories with him, Cal tries to sound sympathetic. “Sorry?”

“Eh, shit happens.” The trandoshan chuckles. “Literally, in my case. But what, you won and we just let you go? Normally the boss keeps hold of the good fighters — we can usually make some decent money off them in other matches.”

“My friends might have landed a ship in the arena to break me out,” Cal admits, and the trandoshan laughs again.

“Fuck, those are some brave friends you got there.” He looks almost sad on Cal’s behalf when he says, “Guess that’s why the boss was so eager to get you back though. The repairs to the arena are taking up some serious cash.”

Cal raises his eyebrows. “If he’s expecting me to be able to pay for it, I think he’s got the wrong guy.”

There’s something in the way the trandoshan looks at him that makes Cal uneasy, and he hunches in on himself when his jailer says with a shrug, “I don’t know. I can think of a few decent ways to make money off you.”

Before Cal can ask what those ways are (or, preferably, change the subject and never think about it again), the door at the end of the room slides open. 

Cal swallows hard when he recognises the umbaran who comes strolling in.

“Well, look here,” Sorc Tormo drawls, flanked by a handful of guards. “If it isn’t my favorite runaway Jedi.”

He’s taller in person than Cal expected, his ashen skin glowing blue in the dim light of the ship, and Cal’s gaze is caught by the winding tangle of tubes and droid parts which make up the lower part of his torso.

“Sorc, right?” Cal says, with more bravado than he really feels. “You got some more high-earners ready for me to take out?”

Sorc’s grin doesn’t reach his pale eyes. “You know, I’m glad we didn’t kill you last time.”

Cal’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and Sorc strolls closer to the forcefield as he puts a hand to his chest. “What can I say, I’m a humble guy.”

Cal snorts in disbelief but Sorc ignores him as he presses on. “I’m willing to admit when I’m wrong. Sure, I don’t make many mistakes but I’m happy to stick my neck out here and say that putting you in that arena? Kind of a fuck-up. Truly, my bad.”

Cal knows there’s more to it than that but he can’t resist taking the chance that’s presented to him. 

“So I can go now, right?” he says hopefully. “Wouldn’t want you to make the same mistake twice.”

He barely gets to the end of the sentence before Sorc bursts out laughing. The guards stand at his side, stoic and unsmiling, as Sorc doubles over, wheezing and slapping his thigh. “‘I can go now’?” he repeats, laughing. “Man, I gotta respect that optimism, kid.” 

His laughter stops as abruptly as it started when he says, “No, no, you definitely aren’t going anywhere. See, my mistake wasn’t in capturing you — a Jedi is a hell of a catch, even a baby one like you. My mistake was not making the most of what I had.” 

He chuckles again. “There are dozens of folk out there who’d pay big money for your hide and I nearly had you stomped into paste by a jotaz. Honestly, I ought to thank that greasy latero who scooped you out of there. Sure, I was mad at the time but he’s going to make me a very rich man.” He sighs happily. “I think I’ll buy a yacht. I always wanted a yacht.”

Cal swallows. He’s heard about the bounties on Jedi, although he never asked too many questions about who exactly was paying them and what their intentions were, but he tries to keep his fear hidden when he asks, “So who’s the lucky buyer? Did the Empire shell out enough credits to finally get hold of me?”

Sorc laughs again. Cal is beginning to hate that sound.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Sorc says, “I’ve had a couple of offers already, but honestly? I feel like they’re undervaluing you. Not that I really blame them. I mean, for all they know, you could be a decrepit old hag or some wheezy little runt who’s going to drop dead any second. Not the kind of prize that’s worth maximum credits.”

“You want to convince them I’m worth more,” Cal says, starting to piece it together. “That’s why I’m here. How the hell are you going to do that?”

“The same way I sell all my merchandise,” Sorc says. 

The forcefield between them flickers out and Cal takes a step back when Sorc gives him a knowing wink. 

“I’m gonna advertise.”

———

It takes four men to haul him from the cell, and another two to guard against any escape attempts as they drag him through the winding hallways of the ship.

Cal manages to get a couple of good hits in, swinging his foot into one person’s jaw and slamming his head back hard enough to break someone’s nose, but there are just too many of them. Sorc apparently hasn’t given them any instructions about not damaging the merchandise and by the time they reach their destination, Cal’s nursing at least half a dozen new bruises from fists and fingers.

Having his hands bound in front of him is a small mercy but it allows him to break his fall as he’s shoved roughly to the floor of the new room. The guards leave him there, retreating to their positions by the door, and Cal wipes the trickle of blood from his split lip as he tries to get his bearings.

The room is large and well-lit but almost completely empty. There are no windows or other doors leading out, and no furnishings or decorations to indicate the room’s purpose. The only clues are the drain in the floor in the center of the room and the holocams dotted at neat intervals around the walls, but Cal has no idea what to make of either of those.

Nevertheless, he climbs back to his feet and readies himself for whatever kind of fight might be coming when Sorc strolls in. 

The two guards behind him push a strange glass case over to the middle of the room, and Cal eyes it with caution as Sorc murmurs something to his men. The case is tall and cylindrical, with thick metal plates at the bottom and top, but it’s narrow enough that Cal doubts it could hold more than two people comfortably. 

“All right then,” Sorc says, clapping his hand together with a grin. “Let’s get this show on the road, baby!”

One of the guards (who Cal hopes is not just named ‘baby’) opens a panel on the wall. The holocams around them blink into life, focusing in on the center of the room, and more of that music from the arena begins to play quietly in the background. 

There’s a familiar crackle of static which sounds like a call connecting, and Sorc calls cheerfully, “Do I have the Mantis on the line?”

Cal’s eyes widen but two of the guards are at his side before he can lunge for Sorc’s throat. 

Already in full performance mode, Sorc ignores him, calling again, “Hellooo? Come on, Greezy, I’m giving you premium access for free here. The least you could do is give me a nice hello.”

He beams when Greez’s voice comes over the speakers. “Tormo? That you?”

Sorc gives a bow. “The one and only.”

“What do you want?” Greez says, and Cal can hear the nerves in his voice. “I thought we were square after that whole mess on Ordo Eris. You kidnap my friend, I squash your little arena with my ship: it seemed pretty even.”

“Oh, god…”

The speakers pick up Cere’s voice too and Cal knows that they can see more than just the projection of Sorc when Cere calls out, “Cal! Cal, where are you? Where are they holding you?”

The guards tighten their grip on his arms in warning but Cal pays no attention to them as he calls back, “Cere, I’m on a ship but I don’t know where. I’m okay, BD-1’s here somewhere and still alive. They’re going to-”

He’s silenced by a punch to the gut and he drops to his knees with a groan as Sorc orders, “Shut him up. I didn’t bring you here today to do the talking, kid. That’s kind of _my_ deal, you know?”

Cal ignores him, looking at the nearest holocam as he shouts to Cere, Greez and Merrin, “Stay safe! Don’t com-”

A thick piece of cloth is shoved between his teeth before he can finish and tied around the back of his head while Cal struggles against the guards’ grip. He looks up at the cameras, shaking his head as much as he can, but he can only hope that he managed to say enough to deter them from attempting a rescue.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Sorc continues, and Cal groans in pain when he lands a sharp kick to his ribs, “we aren’t even just yet, Greezy, but we will be when I’m finished here.”

The guards step back but Sorc grips Cal’s hair before he can mount a defense, and forces his head up to face the holocams. “You got any idea what the going rate is for a Jedi? The bounties from the Empire alone…” 

He whistles, impressed, and Cal snarls into the gag as he tries to pull away. 

“He’s worth way more than just selling some tickets to a fight,” Sorc says. “So once I’ve got my money’s worth out of him, I’ll consider us even. That sound like a fair trade, four-arms?”

Cal can hear the anger and frustration in Greez’s voice when he says, “The kid’s got nothing to do with this, Tormo. I’m the one who made those bets; I bought the ship. You should be taking this up with me, not him.”

“You? A latero worth less than a decent pair of boots?” Sorc chuckles and pats Cal on the cheek. Cal tries and fails to bite his fingers. “I appreciate the effort but I’m going to stick with my new little Jedi here, thanks.”

“We can get you money,” Cere says. “I don’t know how much Greez owes you but we can find it. Just let Cal go.”

“Tempting,” Sorc says, “but unfortunately the amount I’m raking in just from this warm-up show is already more than that scrapheap of a ship cost. You know how many people out there are willing to pay good money to see a Jedi suffer?” He grins. “Or hey, even just to see a cute redhead suffer. I’m not out here to judge.”

“You’re sick,” Cere says, disgusted, but Sorc just laughs.

“I’m an entrepreneur,” he says with a mocking bow. “It’s all supply and demand, baby.” He lets go of Cal’s hair and whistles to his men. “Load it up, gents.”

Cal struggles with all he has left as the guards drag him towards the glass case in the middle of the room. The holocams follow his every move, little red lights blinking patiently, and Cal tries not to think about who else might be watching when the guards shove him inside and seal the near-invisible door back up behind him.

The glass is thick enough that the silence seems to smother him, and when he tears the gag out of his mouth and bangs his cuffs against the wall, he doubts that Cere or Greez or even Sorc can hear a word he’s saying. 

He tries anyway, repeating everything he said earlier, telling them every last details of the ship, its layout, its crew, and its leader that he’s been able to glean, but Sorc just smirks at him through the glass as he says something that Cal can’t hear.

Cal’s about to start again from the top when a sound crackles from somewhere in the case and he hears Sorc’s voice sing-songing over the speakers. “And a one, and a two, and a one, two, three!”

Metal scrapes above him and Cal looks up just in time to see water pour in through the newly-opened hole in the top of the case. He cries out in surprise, wiping it out of his eyes with a splutter, and he presses his back against the glass to avoid the spray as much as he can. 

There’s nowhere for it to go, no holes or anything in the base of the tube, and Cal’s eyes widen in fear as the water begins to rise up around his knees and calves.

“No!” he yells, banging on the glass. “Sorc, let me out!”

Sorc gives an exaggerated frown, pointing to his ear and shaking his head at Cal, and Cal slams his fists into the solid glass again in desperation. “I know you can hear me if you want to, you asshole. Let me out!”

The water is clear but freezing cold, and Cal feels his legs start to lock up as it inches higher, moving up past his waist. The memories of Ilum are unavoidable but he tries his best to shut out the echoes of helplessness and despair as he keeps pounding on the glass.

The force has little effect either, just sliding off the smooth surface instead of breaking through, and Cal looks around the room for something, anything that can help him.

There’s nothing, just the blank expressions of the guards, the grinning face of Sorc, and the steady blinking of the holocams, and Cal pushes his wet hair out of his eyes as he raises his arms above the water level. There’s maybe two feet of air left above him and as the water surges up past his shoulders, Cal kicks out, bracing himself against the tube as much as possible in an effort to stay afloat.

“How’s that feeling, pal?” 

Sorc’s voice echoes above him, barely audible beneath the rushing water, and Cal smacks the side of the glass case again in frustration. 

“What happened to all those people who were going to buy me?” Cal shouts. “Are you really going to pass up that kind of money just to watch me drown?”

He gets a mouthful of water as he speaks and he spits it out, head now bumping against the top of the tank as he struggles to keep breathing.

“You let me worry about the buyers,” Sorc says. “You just focus on keeping your pretty little head above water.” He chuckles. “Oops. Poor turn of phrase.”

If he says anything more, Cal doesn’t hear it as the water rises to fill his ears. He kicks harder, his face tilted up until only his nose is above the water, and he pulls in one last deep breath before the tank is filled to the brim with water, leaving him completely submerged.

His chest burns and he squeezes his eyes shut when he sees Sorc waving at him mockingly from outside. He tries to reach out, locate the kind of calm he finds during meditation, but all that comes is the thought of his friends watching him die like this, trapped and alone and useless.

He hopes Cere can find someone to reach the vault once he’s gone.

Darkness crowds the edges of his vision as the last bubbles of air escape his lips and it’s all too easy to just let himself fall.

His knees collide hard with the ground as the water goes rushing out below him.

Cal isn’t sure how long he was out, or if he was even out at all, but he slumps against the side of the tank as he gasps for air. His eyes and nose sting from the pressure, and as he coughs up water, he looks up to see Sorc grinning down at him.

“Didn’t think I’d make it that easy, did you?” There’s a now-familiar scrape of metal as the grate at his feet closes up, and dread surges through him as more water pours down onto his head. “Time for round two, kid.”

“No!” Cal struggles to his feet, still trying to catch his breath. “No, don’t do this!”

Sorc just laughs, spinning on his heel and saying something to the holocams, and Cal tugs fruitlessly on his cuffs as he looks around for any kind of help. 

There’s nothing, just as there was the last time and just as there will be the next dozen times Sorc decides to subject him to this, and Cal fights to keep his composure as the water rises again. 

His friends have been through worse, he tells himself. Cere at the hands of the Empire and Merrin alone watching the genocide of her people; if they both got through something like that, he can handle a little water. Especially when Sorc seems set on keeping him alive.

The reasoning feels clear and sensible but as the water moves up, past his chest and neck and mouth, reason starts to give way to panic once more. The water is freezing cold as it swallows him up again and Cal’s back on Ilum in an instant, staring up at his younger self as an icy chill sets into his bones.

He kicks harder, losing track of when and where he is as he fights to break the surface, to rebuild his lightsaber, to stop the Empire, and when something finally shatters around him, it takes his dazed mind a long moment to realise that it’s glass rather than ice.

He’s knocked to the floor by the water, the flood of it carrying him out of the tank to collapse amid the shards of broken glass in the middle of the room. 

Someone is yelling above him, but Cal can’t make out any words past the rushing in his ears as he pulls in breath after breath of air. 

He retches, coughing up lungfuls of water onto the ground, and the familiar after-echo of the force against the palms of his hands is beyond reassuring when he looks up at Sorc.

“-happened? You know what, don’t answer that, just turn the fucking cams off!” Sorc bellows, furious, and Cal sags in relief when he watches the red lights blink out one by one. 

Sorc storms over, hauling him up to his knees and smacking him hard across the face, and Cal is too exhausted to fight back when Sorc fumes, “What the fuck did you do, you little shit?”

Cal’s smile is weak but triumphant. “Maybe you should’ve spent some of that bounty money on stronger glass.”

Sorc roars with anger and when his fist comes down again, Cal is only too glad to drop into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

“-the fucking cams off!”

Sorc’s voice echoes through the speakers and they get a brief sighting of him striding forward to where Cal is sprawled on the floor before the hologram disappears entirely. 

Silence swallows them whole, just the sounds of their shallow breathing audible above the rumble of the _Mantis’_ engine, and it takes Cere a long moment to tear her eyes away from where the image of Cal had been.

It’s Merrin who speaks first, sounding as shellshocked as Cere feels when she says, “Who was that? Why has he taken Cal?”

It’s Greez’s story to tell but from the crestfallen look on his face, he doesn’t seem to be in any shape to tell it.

“His name is Sorc Tormo,” Cere says instead. “He runs a syndicate called the Haxion Brood. They deal in smuggling and gambling, mostly.”

Merrin’s gaze cuts across to Greez. “Gambling? Did you gamble Cal?”

“No!” Greez says, offended. “No. I- I owed them some money from a few bets a while back. There was this whole mess with Cal and Ordo Eris and this arena they had there, but we got him out! And yeah, sure, they keep sending bounty hunters but I didn’t think it was anything we couldn’t deal with. I didn’t think he would…”

He trails off, looking as shaken as Cere has ever seen him as he gestures to the now-empty table. 

“I didn’t know,” he says quietly, glancing up at Cere. “I didn’t-”

“I know,” Cere says. After years of keeping the force at bay, it’s easier than she expected to push her anger and irritation down. “You couldn’t have seen this coming. None of us did.”

“We’re going to get him back, yes?” Merrin says. It’s more of a demand than a question and she stands up, her eerie magick already coalescing around her hands. “We must stop this Tormo person before he does any more damage.”

Cere holds up her hands to placate her and is relieved when the unsettling pull of Merrin’s power fades. 

“We’ll get him back,” Cere promises. “But we don’t know where Tormo’s ship is. Cal would’ve told us if he was still on Ordo Eris somewhere.”

“Then we find the ship,” Merrin says. “Now.”

Greez shakes his head. “It could be anywhere.”

“Then we start looking!”

“Merrin-” Cere starts but is cut off when Merrin turns on her, eyes glowing green.

“Why do you just sit here?” Merrin demands. “He is your friend, yes? You should be out there looking — this Tormo person is going to kill him!”

There’s defeat in Greez’s voice when he says, “He’s not gonna kill him. Once he’s made his money, he’s going to sell him.”

Merrin’s eyebrows shoot up. “How is that better?!”

“I didn’t say it was better,” Greez snaps. “This is a grade A shitstorm however you look at it.”

“So, what, you just stand around looking sad?” Merrin says, furious. “Cal is the one being tortured, not you!”

“Wow, how did I miss that?” Greez says sarcastically. “Oh, wait, I didn’t! I was stood right here next to you, lady — I know exactly what they’re doing to Cal and why. Thanks for the reminder though, that’s a really big help.”

Merrin balls her fists in frustration, the magick crackling off her knuckles. “So why are you not trying to help him?”

“Of course we’re trying to help him!” Greez retorts. “But we don’t know where the hell is he, and the last time I checked, setting this ship on fire with witch magic isn’t a great way to find him!”

“Enough!”

Cere’s voice is loud enough to cut across the argument but she holds her hands up in a conciliatory gesture when both of them whirl to face her. 

“This isn’t helping anyone,” she says firmly, “least of all Cal. Merrin, we all want to find him but we can’t just go running across the galaxy without even having a place to start. Greez, I know the situation is difficult but-”

“Difficult?” Greez snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s one word for it.”

“Cal wouldn’t want us to fight.”

“You know what Cal wouldn’t want? To be getting tortured by some greasy fucking crimelord because I made some bad bets!” He raises his arms, pacing away from the table. “Too bad, huh?”

“Greez-”

Greez shakes his head. “I’m gonna go make some calls. See if any of my contacts know the name of the ship Sorc’s using. They might not know where it is but it’s gotta be easier to search landing records if we at least know what ship we’re looking for.”

“Good. That’ll help,” Cere says encouragingly, but Greez is already halfway to his quarters before she finishes speaking.

Sighing, she turns back to Merrin, relieved to see the pulse of magick around her has lessened.

“I do not understand him,” Merrin says, but she sounds more concerned than angry this time. “I thought Cal was his friend.”

“He is,” Cere assures her, “and Greez cares a lot about him. It’s just… complicated right now.”

“Because this is his fault?” Merrin asks, although from her tone, it’s barely a question. “Because this Tormo person took Cal because of Greez?”

“It’s not quite that simple,” Cere says. “Just give Greez some space, okay? He’ll be doing everything he can to help.”

“And what about us?” Merrin asks. “What can we do? I don’t have ‘contacts’.”

“No, but you have magick,” Cere says. “I don’t know the extent of your abilities but is there anything that could help here? Some kind of tracking or location spell?”

Merrin shakes her head. “Nothing specific enough. I could maybe find a region where he might be but scrying magick was never a focus on Dathomir.”

“Anything is good,” Cere says honestly. “At least to give us somewhere to start looking. I’ll go back through the comms signals, see if I can unpick some of the Brood’s encryption and work out where they were broadcasting from.”

Merrin nods but her eyes are troubled. “So we just… sit here.”

If she’d been Cal, Cere would have reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder but as it is, she holds herself back. 

“We do everything we can,” Cere says, with a confidence she doesn’t quite feel. “We’ll get him back.”

She can’t bring herself to say anything about the state Cal might be in once they find him but she’s relieved when, for once, Merrin doesn’t press the issue.

———

“Does this happen a lot?”

The guard looks up from his position outside the cell but Cal doesn’t move from where he’s leaning against the wall. The guards are on some kind of rota, with a new shift starting every few hours, and without a watch or a window, they’re the best method Cal has of telling time.

It’s the trandoshan’s shift again. While the other members of the Haxion Brood on guard duty seem happiest to ignore Cal, the trandoshan at least seems willing to make conversation, albeit not about anything that could actually help Cal with his current predicament. 

He learns the trandoshan’s name is Bohk, his favorite food is kodari rice, and that he’s hoping to get his left shoulder replaced with droid parts soon, but as the conversation veers off into Bohk’s childhood fears, Cal tries to steer it back on course.

“I mean, I noticed there was no-one else here,” Cal says, when Bohk doesn’t respond to his question. “It’s a lot of cells for one guy. Not to mention that whole holocam set up your boss has. You do a lot of kidnapping or am I just lucky?”

“Nah,” Bohk says, shoving another fruit pod in his mouth, “the Brood’s got a pretty good sideline in trafficking. The boss prefers to just stick to the valuable ones though — no point wasting time on some dumb whelp who’ll only bring in a handful of credits.”

Cal is reminded again that while the trandoshan seems friendly, that doesn’t mean he’s a good guy. 

“So this ship is purpose built?” He whistles. “Pretty nice for a slave transport.”

“Converted,” Bohk says. “It used to belong to some rich lady, I think. The boss is still trying to change the name.”

Cal frowns. “What’s wrong with the name?”

Bohk grins. “ _’The Nutcracker’_ doesn’t have the vibe he’s looking for. Apparently the last owner had some real niche interests, if you catch my drift.”

Cal can’t hide his smirk at the name. “So that holocam room, did that belong to the last owner too?”

Bohk shakes his head. “No, that’s all the boss’ doing. We mostly use it for auctions, y’know? Show off the goods to get people interested.”

Cal swallows down his nausea. “Huh. And the drowning thing…”

“Just you,” Bohk says cheerfully. “Although who knows, maybe we’ll branch out in future. You know how much people are paying to watch you get beat to shit? Not even to do it themselves, just to watch.” He shakes his head, impressed. “You’re gonna keep me stocked up with kodari rice for fuckin’ years, kid.”

“Happy to help,” Cal mutters. “So I’m gonna be here for a while then? Any idea what else your boss has in store?”

Bohk shrugs. “That’s above my paygrade, man. I figure nothing some bacta and stims won’t fix though. Damaged goods don’t sell as well when it comes to auction.” He glances back at Cal through the forcefield and gestures to his nose and jaw. “Shame about those scars. Some of these buyers are real picky.”

“Who are the buyers?” Cal asks. “What do they do with their slaves?”

Bohk opens his mouth to answer but is cut off by a shout from down the hallway. “Boss is coming!”

The change is instantaneous. Bohk straightens his uniform, gulps down the last of his fruit pods, and is standing to attention when Sorc swans into view, accompanied by another squadron of guards. 

Cal doesn’t bother to get to his feet but flashes Sorc a smirk when the forcefield lowers. “Could you afford refunds for your viewers yesterday or did you need to send out I.O.Us?”

Sorc motions to his guards but Cal isn’t reassured by the smile on his face. 

“I thought Jedi were meant to be wise?” Sorc says, as the guards drag Cal to his feet and out of the cell, following the same path as the previous day. “‘Cause you trying to piss me off seems like a real dumb plan, kid.”

Weak from lack of food, Cal doesn’t struggle against the guards and instead opts to save his strength as he’s marched through the hallways. He can’t see any benefit in trying to appease Sorc, however, and says instead, “Or what, you’ll snap and try to drown me? Oh, wait…”

Sorc’s laugh is sharp and derisive. “Kid, if you think drowning’s the worst I can do, you got a lot of unpleasant surprises coming your way.”

The guards retreat to the walls when they reach the holocam room but Cal’s attempts at figuring out what awaits him today are interrupted when his gaze falls on the inhabitant of a small plastic cage sitting at the edge of the room. 

“BD-1!”

Even through the solid plastic, he hears BD-1’s relieved beep. He starts forward to run to him but is brought up short by Sorc pressing a blaster to the top of the container. 

“Slow your roll there, kid,” Sorc says. “I thought you might do better with some persuasion.” He grins. “Looks like I was right.”

Cal freezes, meeting BD-1’s gaze through the cage, but he doesn’t move any closer. “What do you want?”

“You to stop breaking my perfectly good equipment, for starters,” Sorc grumbles.

“You were trying to drown me!”

“Yes, and I would appreciate you greeting your impending death with a little more dignity and restraint,” Sorc drawls. He taps the blaster on the top of the container. “I’ve got something different lined up for today anyway, but I figured having your droid buddy here would help keep you in line.”

BD-1 lets out a defiant beep, glowering up at Sorc, and Cal gives him a small smile. “It’s okay, buddy. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

BD-1 trills, bumping up against the side of the cage in sympathy, but there’s nothing for him to do but watch helplessly as Sorc motions to a couple of his guards. They slip a metal hook under the cuffs around Cal’s wrists and Cal struggles as best he can when the hook is winched up to the ceiling, forcing his arms up above his head until he needs to balance on his toes to maintain contact with the ground.

Around him, the red lights of the holocams start to blink on and Cal watches with dread as Sorc checks his teeth for stray food and then looks back at him with a predatory grin. 

“All right, Jedi,” Sorc says, rubbing his hands together with glee, “let’s get this show on the road.”

———

The ping of the incoming call makes Greez jump halfway out of his chair.

Running on no sleep and an ill-advised amount of caf, he’s jittery already and he yelps out loud when the comm tolls insistently by his ear. From the expressions on Cere’s and Merrin’s faces as they hurry towards the table, they have the same idea as Greez about what’s coming, but Greez doesn’t hesitate as he hits the button to pick up the call.

“-your most popular requests!”

The hologram of Sorc Tormo appears mid-sentence — apparently he hadn’t waited for Greez and the crew to join him today. The rest of the image loads soon after, revealing a couple of guards from the Brood standing either side of an exhausted-looking Cal. His hands are bound above his head and there’s tape over his mouth to keep him quiet but Greez’s concern kicks up a couple of notches when he realises Cal is shirtless.

The picture magnifies, showing the fear in Cal’s eyes and the faded bruises littering his torso, and when Sorc’s voice crackles over the speakers again, he seems to just be speaking to the _Mantis_ when he says, “Nice of you to join us again, Greezy. Unfortunately, this is the last little show you get for free but rest assured, your Jedi is in excellent hands here.”

Both of Greez’s hearts start beating faster. “Last show? You find a buyer already?”

Sorc laughs. “Oh, I’ve found so many buyers. The amount of ships you could buy for what people are offering for him…” He whistles. “I’m surprised you kept him around as long as you did, four-arms. You never used to be one to turn down a good deal.”

Greez narrows his eyes. “We got very different ideas of what makes a good deal, Tormo.”

“That’s true,” Sorc agrees, “but given that I’m the one raking it dozens of credits a second here, I’d say my instincts are a tiny bit better than yours.” 

The tubes making up his lower abdomen bulge and twist as he rolls his shoulders. “But to answer your question: no. The auction isn’t for a couple of days and besides,” he adds, moving over to force Cal’s head up, “we can keep this up for a while. I’m making good money and our friend here hasn’t lost a single fingernail yet.”

Cal closes his eyes, tugging away from Sorc’s grip, and Greez doesn’t miss the way he tucks his fingers against his palms to hide his nails from view.

“This is the last time you all get to watch for free though,” Sorc says. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s been real fun, Greezy, but it’s time for daddy to focus on real, paying customers now.” He lowers his voice and winks into the holocam. “Of course, if you still want to watch the Jedi get what’s coming to him, you can talk to my lovely assistant about payment plans.”

Greez grits his teeth. “I’m good, thanks.”

Sorc shrugs, unconcerned. “Then enjoy the show. It’ll be the last you see of carrot top here for a while.”

The audio switches back to broadcasting to all viewers and Greez can’t bring himself to look over at Cere or Merrin when Sorc calls out, “Like I was saying, to make up for the small production hiccup last time, we’re here with one of the most popular requests today.”

He pauses, listening to something Greez can’t hear but soon continues with a smile, “Now, don’t be shy to speak up if there’s anything you folks want to see in future — I know everyone’s got their favorite and there’s no judgment here.” He wrinkles his nose. “Well, maybe except for you, furball. I’m not going to ‘eat his leg like a drumstick’; what the fuck, man?”

Cal’s eyes go wide at that but they go wider still when someone off camera passes a wicked-looking whip to one of the guards at his side. The guard tests it, taking a practice swing against the air, and Cal shakes his head, mumbling something through the tape over his mouth as he tugs uselessly against his restraints.

Out of the corner of his eye, Greez sees Cere look away in horror but there’s no way to shut out the loud crack of the whip coming down or the muffled noise of pain that escapes Cal in response.

It comes down again and again, livid stripes criss-crossing Cal’s shoulders and ribs. Sorc keeps talking, spewing his usual bullshit showmanship, but Greez doesn’t hear a word he says as he watches Cal fight to stay quiet. 

“I won’t watch this,” Merrin says, and when Greez looks over, there are green fissures opening down her arms and cheeks. “I will try a different spell. This…” She gestures to the hologram. “This is not helping.”

Greez isn’t sure whether she’s trying to cloak her anger with grief or her grief with anger, but neither Greez nor Cere stop her as she storms away. 

On camera, the guard passes the whip to his colleague, stretching his sore arm as he moves out of view, and Cal no longer tries to stay silent when the blows rain down with fresh force. 

Cal’s been flogged before — both Greez and Cere have seen the old scars when they checked him over after rough fights — but as he watches blood start to trickle from the gashes on Cal’s back, Greez doesn’t know whether the experience is making this easier or harder for Cal to deal with. 

Tears run down Cal’s cheeks as he takes shallow breaths through his nose and Greez hears him plead through the gag when the whip is passed to a third guard who lays into him again with fresh enthusiasm.

Beside him, Cere is crying too, although from the distant look in her eyes, Greez is the only of them who’s realised this. He reaches out to rest a hand over hers, and gives it a quick squeeze when she looks at him in surprise. 

“Why don’t you go back to work on tracing the call,” he suggests. “We’ve got new data now. That’s gotta be helpful, right?”

Cere hesitates, looking at the hologram of Cal. “He’s…”

“I know,” Greez says. He doesn’t know the details of what happened to Cere and Trilla at the hands of the Empire but he can’t imagine watching another young Jedi get beaten down is bringing back any great memories. “I’ll stay here. If he says anything, or if Sorc gives away any clues, I’ll let you and Merrin know. There’s no point in all of us watching this.”

Cere looks like she’s about to argue but Greez exhales in relief when she just scrubs a hand across her face and yields. “I’ll be in my quarters if you need me. There’s a lot of comms traffic to work through.”

“Sure,” Greez says gently, and turns the volume down on the table as Cere hurries away.

It seems to last forever, new guards rotating in to take their turn while Sorc preens and struts for the benefit of the cameras. Cal writhes and struggles against his restraints, his whole body swaying with every lash of the whip, and Greez can’t do anything but watch uselessly until the flurry of blows finally, _finally_ comes to an end.

Cal’s back is a mess. Greez can’t even see the extent of the damage underneath the blood but as they unhook him from the ceiling, he reminds himself that Sorc is too fond of money to do anything which might permanently maim him.

Cal drops to his knees when they release him, his shoulders shaking with sobs, and he barely seems to register it when Sorc moves in and rips the tape off his mouth. The holocam focuses in on their faces when Sorc clicks his fingers and he cups Cal’s jaw to force his head up.

“Pretty good, huh, four-arms?” Sorc says, and it takes Greez a second to realize he’s talking to him. “He takes it like a real pro.”

Cal’s eyes are glassy and distant, and Sorc tightens his grip on his jaw when he says, “Let’s see some manners, Jedi. Say thank you to Greez here for getting you into this situation.”

Greez shakes his head. “Sorc-”

Cal doesn’t respond, not even when Sorc pulls sharply on his hair. 

Sorc scowls in annoyance and nods to someone out of shot. “Werrat, tear both the legs off that droid.”

There’s a panicked but familiar string of beeps off-camera at the same time as recognition sparks in Cal’s eyes. “No!”

Sorc grins. “Nice to see you’re still with me, Jedi.” He tugs on Cal’s hair again, pointing up at the active holocam. “Now, say thank you to your latero buddy and I’ll only take one of the droid’s legs. How’s that sound?”

“Please,” Cal begs, looking between the camera and where BD-1 is still audibly protesting, “don’t hurt him.”

Sorc’s grip on his hair tightens as he warns, “I don’t like repeating myself, kid…”

Tears are still streaked down Cal’s cheeks when he looks into the holocam and stammers, “I- Thank you.”

“Thank you, who?”

Cal closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them again, there’s an emptiness there that makes Greez’s skin prickle. 

He thinks he might see Cal give a miniscule shake of his head but he honestly can’t tell whether it’s real or just his conscience clinging to any kind of hope when Cal says quietly, “Thank you, Greez.”

“Good boy,” Sorc says, patting Cal’s cheek. “See now, that wasn’t so h-”

He’s cut off by a high-pitched trill from across the room, followed by a crackle and then an equally high-pitched but far more human shriek of pain. 

“Fuck!” someone shouts, followed by a different voice saying, “Oh, shit, it-”

There’s the sound of a door opening, then a receding trill, then the thunder of footsteps as Sorc yells, “Someone catch that fucking droid!” He glances into the holocam. “And shut these off! Imbeciles…”

He turns away, apparently to join the chase for BD-1, and Greez sees a tiny, exhausted smile cross Cal’s lips. He looks into the camera, mouthing something Greez can’t quite make out — _dot tracker? hot rancor?_ — before the hologram blinks out.

Greez sits there for a long moment, moving his mouth in the same shape as Cal to try to work out what he was trying to say. He rules out ‘fuck you, Greez’ early on, which is some comfort, but it’s only when he thinks back to his shortlist of possible ships that the answer comes to him.

“Holy shit.”

He runs back down towards the cockpit and thumbs through his stack of notes until he finds the name he’s looking for, scrawled in his spiky handwriting and matching up almost perfectly with what Cal was mouthing.

 _Nutcracker_.

He’s unable to contain his relief at finally having something to go on, and his gratitude is far more sincere than Cal’s was when he murmurs under his breath, “Thank you, kid.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much to everyone who's been reading/leaving feedback! We're getting into the meat of things now...

Cal loses track of time.

He’s barely conscious each time the guards dump him back in his cell, usually with a fresh set of injuries for the bacta gel to work on. Just from the number of times he’s seen Bohk on duty, he guesses that maybe three more days have passed since the last broadcast that went out to the _Mantis_ , but his hopes of a rescue feel more foolish by the hour.

Even if Greez understood what he was trying to say — ‘Nutcracker’ isn’t exactly a common phrase when they teach lip-reading — finding one ship in a galaxy of millions is a tall order. Coupled with getting past dozens of guards and extracting a prisoner apparently worth more money than Cal’s ever seen in his life, the prospect seems pretty impossible.

As such, when he wakes up alone and shivering yet again, he forces himself to ignore the ache of disappointment.

There’s no guard outside, just him, the grey cell, and the yellow forcefield, and Cal wraps his thin blanket around himself as he curls up against the wall. Pain lingers from Sorc’s latest torture — some kind of venom, strong enough to make Cal’s vein feels like they were on fire — and he rests his head against his knees, reaching for the peace of meditation that has been eluding him for days.

 _It’s good that they haven’t come for me,_ he tells himself, again and again. _They’d only put themselves in danger. I can handle this._

The last statement seems less and less true every time he thinks it, and he’s glad no guards are around to hear him as his breath hitches on a quiet sob.

When an answering beep comes from somewhere above him, he thinks he’s hallucinating.

Nevertheless, he freezes, listening out for it again, and his eyes widen when he recognises a familiar trill.

“BD-1?”

His legs nearly buckle under him but he stumbles to his feet, looking around for the source of the noise. “BD?”

A low whistle follows, reminding him to keep quiet, and Cal nods as he spots a glint of blue light behind the ventilation panel in the wall. No guards seem to be coming and as he stands underneath it and peers up, he can’t keep the smile off his face when he sees BD-1 looking back down at him.

“Hey, buddy,” Cal whispers, and smiles when BD-1 offers a string of happy, relieved chirrups in response. “It’s good to see you. Are you okay?”

He’d assumed that BD-1 had escaped his pursuers — Sorc would have made a point to rub it in Cal’s face if he’d been caught and destroyed — but seeing his friend again in person is more of a relief than Cal expected.

BD-1 trills above him, barrelling through an explanation about his escape and his tentative navigation of the ship’s maintenance hatches, and Cal manages a weak smile when BD-1 returns the question.

“I’m okay,” he says. “I’m okay.”

BD-1 lets out a skeptical boop.

“That bad, huh?” He looks down at the rough tunic which has replaced his usual clothes and the fading bruises still visible on his legs. “All right, maybe ‘okay’ is an overstatement.”

BD-1 beeps again, concerned, and Cal shakes his head. “No, buddy, you need to get out of here. They’re going to sell me soon — maybe I’ll have a better chance of getting away from the buyer than I do of getting away from the Brood.”

He gets a flat refusal in response as BD-1 kicks his foot against the grate, and Cal smiles in spite of himself. 

“I don’t think I’m going to fit through there, buddy,” he points out, but reaches up anyway to let BD-1 bump his face against Cal’s fingers through the grate. “Look, just get yourself back to the _Mantis_ somehow — hitch a ride or hijack an escape pod or something. You have Cordova’s memories and Cere has the astrium; between the two of you, you can find a way to get the holocron if I-” He swallows. “-if things don’t work out here for me.”

BD-1 gives a mournful trill as he crouches by the grate, getting as close to Cal as possible, and Cal tells himself it’s just tiredness that’s making his vision blurry. 

“I know, buddy,” he says softly. “I’m sorry too. If there’s a way out, I swear I’ll take it, first chance I get, but you can’t wait for me.”

BD-1 beeps sadly and Cal scrubs a hand over his eyes as he says, “Yeah, I miss you too-”

The lights in the cell flicker on and Cal falls silent when he hears the distant whoosh of the doors opening. He takes one last glance up at BD-1 and gestures desperately for him to flee, and as the footsteps approach his cell, he shifts away from the grate and draws himself up to his full height.

It feels too early for another round of torture but when he sees the person following Sorc into the room, he thinks torture might actually be preferable.

“Just like I said,” Sorc says, gesturing to the cell. “We got him locked up tight down here.”

Trilla’s boots click against the floor as she strolls up to the forcefield, her dark helmet glinting in the yellow light. “I see.”

Cal fights the urge to take a step back. The forcefield instantly feels like one of protection instead of restraint, and he holds his ground as he looks between Trilla and Sorc. “I didn’t realize inquisitors needed to make deals with slavers.”

“Oh, there’s no deal yet,” Trilla says, moving closer to the barrier. “Perhaps soon though.”

Even beneath the helmet, Cal can feel her eyes raking over him and he shifts self-consciously. He may not have been sold like a slave yet but he knows he’s already dressed like one. “How did you find me?”

“Our technicians picked up your friend’s broadcast,” Trilla says. “I was doubtful that some mere criminals had really caught such an evasive little Padawan and decided to see for myself. Tell me, how did these second-rate bounty hunters succeed where my purge troopers didn’t?”

“Hey, don’t be so hard on your troopers,” Cal says with a smirk. “It isn’t like you managed to capture me yourself either.”

Trilla’s gloved hands curl into fists and Cal is certain that if the barrier wasn’t there, he would be held off the ground by his throat.

She sighs, fingers uncurling. “I’m going to enjoy taking you apart, Cal Kestis.”

Cal shrugs as much as his cuffs allow. “You can try.” He nods to where Sorc is standing beside the cell, looking between the two of them in confusion. “You might have to get through him first though. Apparently I’m worth a _lot_.”

Trilla makes a doubtful sound but turns back to Sorc as she says, “The Empire will pay you 10,000 credits for the Jedi.”

Cal’s eyes widen but he blinks in disbelief when Sorc rubs the back of his neck and says, “Listen, no offense, Inquisitor — the Empire’s interest is appreciated and all-”

“But?” Trilla cuts in.

“I’ve got this auction all lined up,” Sorc says. “Real soon now. And while I love 10k in credits as much as the next guy, that’s not even coming close to the starting price for this one.”

Trilla is silent for a long moment and Cal sees sweat start to roll down Sorc’s temple when she finally speaks. “I’m not here to negotiate, Tormo. The Empire has made you a generous offer — I strongly suggest you take it.”

Cal can see the debate warring on Sorc’s face but, as expected, greed wins out over self-preservation. 

“Tell the Empire thanks,” Sorc says, some of his cockiness returning, “but no thanks. You’re welcome to attend the auction though. Y’know, if you want to make a higher bid.”

Even through the forcefield, Cal can sense the anger radiating off Trilla. Sorc seems to feel it too as he takes a step back and the two stormtroopers accompanying her share a nervous glance.

“This is a mistake,” she warns. “The Empire will have that Jedi, and you would be foolish to stand in our way.”

“Take it up with the buyer in a couple of days,” Sorc says. “I’m just the middleman here. Who knows, maybe whoever wins the auction will be more inclined to cut you a deal.”

For a moment, Cal expects Trilla to just drive her lightsaber through his throat right there, but he exhales in relief when he sees her look around, clearly assessing her odds before deciding against an all-out assault.

“As I said,” she says with a curt nod, “a mistake. Fortunately not one you will live to regret.”

“Uh, thank you?” Sorc says with a gulp and Cal rolls his eyes.

Trilla turns back to face him through the barrier and Cal hides as much of his fear as he can when he says, “Nice try.”

She laughs. “I can promise that you won’t be so cheerful after this many days in an Imperial cell,” she says, looking him over again. “But I’d expect nothing less from amateurs.”

Sorc bristles at her side but she ignores him as she says, audibly smiling, “I’ll see you soon, Padawan.”

With that, she sweeps out, stormtroopers following at her heels, and as Cal sags against the wall of his cell, he honestly can’t tell whether he or Sorc is more nervous at the prospect.

———

It takes them far too long to find Sorc Tormo’s ship.

Between Merrin’s spell and Cere’s slicing, they manage to narrow it down to a relatively small search area but ‘relatively small’ in galactic terms still includes thousands of potential ships. It’s only with the name from Cal and Greez that they have any luck searching docking registries and flight paths, until they finally locate the _Nutcracker_ hiding on the edge of the Outer Rim.

Actually getting there also takes too long for Cere’s liking, particularly as she continues to pick up transmissions from Tormo’s ship. Their ‘free access’ has been revoked but their encryption is weak enough that it isn’t too difficult to obtain daily updates on Cal’s situation.

After the first day, Cere hasn’t been able to sit through a whole one.

Merrin refuses to even stay in the room, retreating to her quarters to work on one magick solution after another. For her part, Cere always tries to stick it out but always ends up back in the fortress, hearing the screams of the Jedi around her as the Inquisition tears them all apart. 

Greez is the only one who lasts through the broadcasts, watching in grim silence for any kind of message or clue that could help them, but if Cal knows they’re watching, he isn’t showing it.

It’s only when they’re less than a day’s journey from Tormo’s ship that Cere picks up a different type of transmission.

It still features Cal and the sneering face of Tormo himself, but when Cere pulls up the feed, the recording seems to loop. She catches Tormo giving a date and time and gesturing with a salesman’s flourish to where Cal is once again chained up in that damned room, but the footage jumps then, back to the start of the recording as Tormo launches into his spiel with a broad smile. 

“Well, hello there, folks! On behalf of the Haxion Brood, I’m pleased to set a date for the auction of our friend here. So mark your calendars and set your destinations now because in less than two days time, you could be the one walking away with your very own Jedi!”

Nausea rises in Cere’s throat. 

Greez is already at the table by the time Tormo strolls over to Cal, and Merrin hesitates in the doorway as she says, disgusted, “Again? Are they not tired of this? Why not let him fight instead of just toying with someone who can’t defend themselves?”

“Dathomir at least had that going for it,” Greez says sadly. “Man, I can’t believe I’m actually thinking something nice about that place.”

Merrin glowers at him but Cere beckons her over as she says, “This one seems different. Like he’s… advertising?”

Merrin wrinkles her nose. “Has he not been advertising this whole time? To sadists and murderers like himself?”

On the hologram, Tormo approaches Cal but rather than hurting him again, he just closes his hand around Cal’s jaw and forces his head to the left and then the right, as though examining him. 

Cal makes an attempt at biting him when Tormo pries his lips apart to show the camera his teeth, but Tormo just laughs and aims a wink in the direction of the holocam. “Still got some fight left in him too, if you’re in the breaking mood. Bidding gets high enough, I’ll even toss in my best whip, free of charge.”

“He’s looking for buyers,” Greez says, grimacing. “He’s done with putting on a show for an audience; he wants to rake in the credits he’ll get for selling Cal.”

“Then we get to Cal before that happens,” Merrin says bluntly. “We are close now. We will be there before this sale takes place.”

Tormo keeps talking, poking and prodding at Cal’s arms and chest, and Cere turns the volume down when Cal tries to twist away from Tormo’s hands. He’s down to just his underwear now, like he has been for the last couple of broadcasts, and Cere forces herself to look away when Cal hides his face behind his raised arms in shame as Tormo gropes his thigh like a piece of meat.

“How’s that extraction plan coming?” Greez asks Merrin, with barely disguised sarcasm. “Did you figure out a spell to yoink Cal off a ship filled with armed bounty hunters yet? ‘Cause we’re going to need to update it for armed bounty hunters _plus_ a bunch of rich assholes who like buying slaves.”

“There is no spell that can do this,” Merrin admits. “But with my magick and your weapons-”

“We would die before we even made it into the same room as Cal,” Cere says. 

Merrin scowls at them both. “Then what? We just leave him there to become a slave?”

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” Greez mutters. 

Cere silences him with a sharp look then turns to Merrin. “We all want to get Cal out of there but we need to be smart about this.”

“Smart how?” Merrin says, frustrated. “We do not have good options here! Do you suggest we buy him?”

Cere shakes her head. “That’s-”

“Not bad.”

Both she and Merrin turn to look at Greez, who’s stroking his chin with one hand. 

“What?” Merrin asks at the same time that Cere says, “Excuse me?”

“I’m saying it’s not the worst idea,” Greez says, gesturing to the hologram where Tormo is now showing off Cal’s legs and feet. “There’s going to be a load of strangers on the ship for the auction; that might be our best chance to get in and break Cal out. With any luck, Sorc’ll be too busy bragging about his success to notice us sneaking out Cal right under his nose.”

“We don’t have money,” Merrin says.

Greez shrugs. “That’s the beauty of an auction. Only the winner actually needs to pay. We just need to get in the door.”

Cere shakes her head. “Tormo knows our faces. Especially yours. We won’t make it close enough to help Cal.”

“Tormo knows _our_ faces,” Greez corrects, gesturing to Cere and himself. “But we didn’t have a nightsister with us on Ordo Eris.”

Cere catches her lip between her teeth as she looks back to where Tormo has finished displaying Cal and is now addressing potential purchasers again. “It’s risky. What if-”

“I’ll do it,” Merrin says with conviction. “Even if he’s heard about me, I can disguise myself with magick. The spell is easy enough that children learn it.”

Cere hesitates. She’s seen the same look of determination from both Cal and Trilla in the past and the nausea returns at the thought of putting yet another of her charges in jeopardy.

“I’ll walk you through what to expect,” Greez says as the recording of Tormo loops to the start again. “Can’t say I’ve ever been to a slave auction but if it’s anything like Sorc’s poker nights, there shouldn’t be too many surprises.”

“We should talk about this,” Cere says weakly. “There might be a better option.”

“There is no good option,” Merrin says, “and this is the best of the bad ones. I will go to the auction and get Cal back.”

This time she sounds less like Cal or Trilla, and more like Cere herself years ago as she bickered with Cordova about their plans. The memory hits her like a shock of cold water and Cere blinks it away as she says, “Okay.”

Greez does a double-take. “Wait, ‘okay’? You’re on board?”

“As Merrin says, there are no good options,” Cere admits. “We need a strategy, with contingencies in case something goes wrong, but this may be our best shot at getting Cal back alive.”

Merrin brightens at that, one of the rare smiles Cere has ever seen from her, but she isn’t surprised when Merrin just turns back to Greez a moment later, all business once again. “How do I get onto his ship?”

Greez leads her away to the kitchen, gesticulating with all four hands as he explains about the nearest spaceport, potential escorts, and other buyers, and Cere turns the hologram off when it shows Cal trying to bite Tormo again. 

Unease winds its way between her ribs as she settles back in her chair in the cockpit and, more out of habit than concern, she busies herself with running a scan for imperial transmissions. The usual chatter of troop movements and supply drops is a welcome respite but she freezes when she picks out the familiar signal of Trilla’s ship amid the noise.

The message is short but clear, and Cere’s heart sinks as she replays it, hoping that she somehow misunderstood.

Her luck was never that good though, and she swallows hard as she calls through to Greez and Merrin in the kitchen. 

“We may have a new problem.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a slightly longer chapter this time. :) Once again, thank you so much to everyone who's been reading/commenting/kudosing, etc - I am super grateful for the support and encouragement. <333

Merrin doesn’t think she’s ever wanted a bath this much in her whole life.

She’s only been aboard Sorc Tormo’s ship for a few hours, mingling and making small-talk with the other people who are there in the hopes of purchasing her friend, but even after her excursions exploring the Swamp of Sacrifice as a child, she’s never felt this filthy before.

After Greez pointed out that a surviving nightsister was likely to command a similarly high price to a Jedi, she opted to disguise herself with magick as a wealthy twi’lek. Although keeping a low profile hasn’t been a huge success, getting to break the fingers of two men who tried to grope her has been a helpful outlet for her anger at the whole situation. 

It’s the little things.

That same anger swells again when the yaka beside her launches into a detailed explanation of just how eager he is to dissect the Jedi once he wins the auction. 

“-how his hands work in particular. You’ve seen how Jedi manipulate things through the air; if I sever the hands at the wrists, we might be able to conduct some further tests before death.”

The keshian next to him nods, interested. “I once saw a Jedi summon his weapon to him without touching it. I wonder if this one would be able to do the same to his severed hand.”

The yaka laughs, slapping the keshian on the shoulder. “Glad to see I’ve inspired you, friend. Here’s hoping Tormo gets hold of a second Jedi soon for you to test it out on.”

Shaking his head, the keshian smiles too. “I have deep pockets, Dhellis. You’re going to be the one waiting for the next auction.”

“Ha! I like your optimism.” The yaka chuckles, taking a swig of his drink and turning to Merrin. “How about you — Salona, was it? You’re not going to win this one but what would you do if you got your hands on a Jedi?”

Merrin tries not to grimace. “That is my business.”

Dhellis laughs again and elbows her playfully. “Ahh, I see. I can’t say the boy is my type but to each their own.” His gaze travels down her body as he says, “Of course, when I win the auction, I could be willing to offer you some short-term usage of the Jedi. Assuming you’d be willing to accept an audience, that is.”

Merrin gives him a cold smile. “I suggest you keep your eyes on my face, Dhellis. I’d hate for you to lose them.”

The keshian sniggers at that but Dhellis looks slightly chastised. “I didn’t mean-”

“And there will be no audience after _I_ win the auction,” she says firmly. “I value my privacy.”

“A pity that you’ll both be disappointed,” the keshian says. “Have you been in to look at him yet? The holovids really didn’t do him justice.”

The smirk on his face makes Merrin’s stomach roll but before she can make her excuses to get away from the conversation, one of Tormo’s guards appears at her side. “Salona Vash?”

Panic surges through her at the prospect of being discovered but she pushes her magick down as she turns to face the guard. “Is there a problem?”

“No, ma’am,” the guard says. “It’s just that it’s your turn to see the Jedi. If you want to, that is.”

“Oh, enjoy yourself,” the keshian says with a wink. “Be sure to give him a _thorough_ inspection.”

Merrin fantasizes briefly about tearing the keshian’s head off his shoulders, like plucking fruit from a tree.

“Thank you,” she says instead, to the guard rather than the keshian. “I’ve been eager to get a better look at my future slave. Please, lead the way.”

The yaka and the keshian whisper as she goes but Merrin pays them no attention. The phantom lekku on her head are a minor distraction in the corner of her vision as she follows the guard through the cluster of guests to the circular chamber in the middle of the room which serves as Cal’s current prison. 

The walls are transparent, giving Merrin a clear view of the rattataki female who slaps Cal across the face before making her way to the exit. She smirks at Merrin as she leaves, knocking her shoulder against hers, and Merrin does her best to remember Cere’s relaxation tips as she grits her teeth and walks inside.

While she’s still visible to the rest of the guests, the noise from outside falls away as soon as the door closes behind her.

As much as she wants to talk to Cal, she wouldn’t put it past Tormo to be keeping tabs on what people say in here, and so she keeps her distance as she paces around him.

While it’s a relief to see that he isn’t injured, that’s about the only positive observation she can make. He’s stripped almost naked, only his underwear protecting what little remains of his modesty as he tugs against the restraints keeping him on his knees. He looks exhausted, as well as thinner than Merrin remembers, but anger burns in his eyes as he glares up at her. 

“Be calm, Jedi.”

With her voice partially disguised, Cal doesn’t seem to recognize her from just her words. He’s gagged — a late precaution after he bit one bidder hard enough to draw blood — but he makes his displeasure clear enough when she takes a cautious step closer. 

He reminds her of an injured animal, eyes wild and breath coming fast with terror, and while Merrin just wants to reassure him, to drop the disguise, and, ideally, to kill as many people on the ship as she can, she wants him to be safe more than anything.

“It’s okay,” she says, as much of a compromise as she can allow herself. “I just want to look at you.”

It’s not quite true — their plan involves more than just looking — and Cal flinches back when she reaches for him.

There’s nothing he can do to stop her from touching him though, just like there was nothing he could do to stop any of the others, and it’s only the thought of Tormo listening in which stops Merrin from whispering an apology as she tugs his head back gently to face her.

Cal snarls at her through the gag, trying to pull away, and Merrin swallows past the lump in her throat. Even on Dathomir, back when she was actively sending nightbrothers to kill him, he never looked at her with that much hatred. 

While she can hardly blame him, it doesn’t make her feel any better about the situation. 

His eyes are wide and terrified and he follow her movements as she slips a studded brooch off the front of her robes. 

He shakes his head as much as her grip allows, and Merrin honestly has no idea what he expects her to do to him when she says, “Relax, Jedi. I have no intention of hurting you now.”

Cal doesn’t relax in the slightest, still tense with fear as Merrin adjusts her grip on the brooch, and Merrin sends up a quick plea to her sisters for this to work when she touches the metal of the brooch to his cheek.

Cal’s eyelids flutter, his shoulders going lax in a way that’s thankfully familiar, and Merrin exhales in relief when his gaze becomes distant for a long moment. 

She doesn’t know how much the echo contains but as she thinks back over their attempts at implanting it, she can only hope it’s enough.

_”Greez, concentrate.”_

_“What does it look like I’m doing?” Greez grumbles, and Merrin cracks one eye open to see him scratch his chin. “I don’t know if you two noticed but the force isn’t really my area of expertise.”_

_“You don’t need to be a force user to leave an echo,” Cere says. Her eyes are still closed as she presses her fingertips against the brooch that sits in front of all three of them. “Echoes are caused by strong emotions; just touch the brooch and focus on how you feel and the force should do the rest.”_

_Having already expressed her concerns (at length) about the potential failure of this plan, Merrin opts not to object further and both she and Greez reach for the brooch at the same time. She lets her feelings engulf her — worry that this plan won’t succeed, fear that they’re already too late to save Cal, and a blinding, searing anger towards those who hurt him — but she keeps her eyes closed when she hears Cere speak._

_“Cal, if you’re picking up on this echo, it’s Cere. We’ve got a plan to get you out of there but this is the only way we could reach you without Tormo knowing.”_

_Her voice is calm but whether through the brooch or through the force itself, Merrin can feel the anxiety and concern building beneath the surface._

_“The woman in front of you right now is Merrin. She’s disguised with magick and she has to be careful not to give herself away but she’s there to help you.”_

_Cere swallows hard and continues, “We intercepted some communications; Trilla is on her way to you with a whole squadron of troopers. She will launch an attack against Tormo’s ship in an effort to retrieve you for the Inquisition. We are not going to let that happen.”_

_It’s said with such confidence that Merrin can almost believe it._

_“She will strike soon,” Cere continues. “We intend to use the chaos to get you out of there. Once the fighting starts, look for Merrin. She will free you but we need you to help guide her to an escape pod. The _Mantis_ will be waiting to pick you up, and we’ll make the jump into hyperspace before Trilla or Tormo know you’ve gone.”_

_Her voice softens and she promises, “You’re going to be okay, Cal. Just hold it together for a couple more hours. You’ll be safe soon.”_

_Merrin doesn’t know if she can actually feel the pulse of the echo under her fingertips or if it’s just her hopeful mind playing tricks but she squeezes her eyes shut and focuses harder on the brooch when Cere takes a breath and begins to repeat the instructions again._

Cal blinks. He sways in the restraints as he comes back to reality and Merrin slips the brooch into her robes as she watches him nervously. He’s breathing hard, shivering slightly in the aftermath of the echo, but Merrin struggles to keep her expression neutral when he looks up at her, a question in his eyes.

She gives him a barely perceptible nod and bites her lip to keep herself from smiling when his eyes light up with relief. 

He tugs on the restraints, trying to talk through the gag, and Merrin leans down to cup his cheek when she says, “Quiet, Jedi. We both know I have plans for you.”

Cal looks her over again, as if trying to see through the disguise, but his answer comes as a nod of determination. 

“Everything all right in here?”

The sound of Tormo’s voice takes her by surprise and Merrin hurries to her feet when her host slips into the room, closing the door behind him. 

Cal doesn’t react, clearly still processing the details of the plan, but Merrin’s skin crawls when Tormo approaches her with a shark-like smile. 

“He causing you any problems, Ms Vash?”

It takes Merrin a second to recognize her alias but she forces a smile as she shakes her head. “Of course not. I’m just admiring the merchandise.” She channels Greez when she says, “I always thought of Jedi as old men with beards. It’s a pleasant surprise to see that isn’t the case here.”

Cal’s glare is feigned this time but he makes a token protest anyway as he curses at her through the gag.

Tormo tuts in disapproval and Merrin is too stunned to react when he takes a step forward to backhand Cal hard across the face. Cal’s head snaps to the side with a muffled cry of pain but Merrin catches Tormo’s wrist before he can bring his hand down again. 

“Enough,” she snaps, letting some of her power bleed through into her words. “I don’t pay for damaged goods, Tormo.”

She squeezes hard enough to feel his bones grind together and then releases him. 

He lowers his head in an obsequious attempt at contrition but Merrin just glowers at him when he says, “My apologies, Ms Vash. The Jedi would certainly be fortunate to have such a _caring_ owner as yourself once the auction is over.”

Merrin sneers, leaning in close to Tormo. “Don’t get the boy’s hopes up. I said I don’t pay for damaged goods. Damaging goods I already own is a different story.”

Relief fills her when Tormo laughs, his suspicions apparently ebbing away. “Ha, you hear that, kid? Doesn’t sound like you’ll be that fortunate after all.”

Cal’s eyes narrow but he doesn’t try to speak again when Tormo holds an arm out for Merrin to take. 

He leads her back to the door and lowers his head to plant a kiss on the back of her hand as he says, “Best of luck at the auction, Ms Vash. Even if you don’t succeed, I’d love to do business with you again soon.”

It’s an effort for Merrin to tamp down her disgust as she forces a smile. “I look forward to it.”

The door slides open as Tormo heads back out to where the guests are still mingling, and Merrin risks a quick glance back at Cal, more for reassurance than anything else. 

She sees the red mark high on his cheek where Tormo struck him but as she lingers in the doorway, Cal won’t meet her eyes.

———

By the time the auction starts, Merrin has never been so desperate to be ambushed.

Despite Cere’s predictions, the Second Sister and her men are nowhere to be seen, and as Tormo pontificates from the stage, Merrin once again weighs up the merits of ripping him apart right then and there.

While the advantages (namely immense and immediate satisfaction) are tempting, the disadvantages are too great, and she forces herself to be patient once again as Cal is hauled out on stage. There’s a leash around his neck now, the end of which is offered up to Tormo, and Merrin presses her palms together to contain the furious surge of magick as a ripple of appreciation goes through the waiting bidders. 

Tormo finishes his spiel and takes his place behind the podium. He tugs on the leash just enough to make Cal stumble and chuckles as he opens the auction up to the crowd. 

“Do I hear 15,000 credits from anyone?”

A number of hands shoot up and Merrin glances around the room as the bidding rises quickly to past 20,000, then 25,000 credits. 

The ship shudders faintly, barely noticeable as anything more than an engine misfiring, but Merrin’s hopes soar when she sees two guards listen to their comm devices and then hurry out of the door.

If anyone’s informed Tormo, he doesn’t seem to be paying attention as he instead welcomes a bid of 27,000 from a cruel-looking chiss in the back row. Beside her, the yaka grumbles in frustration, tossing his paddle to the ground as the auction moves out of his price range, and Merrin doesn’t miss the smug expression from the keshian on her other side.

The ship shakes again and Merrin just catches the sound of a distant alarm when four more guards leave the room. 

The bidding is mostly a battle between the chiss and the keshian now, and Cal’s price rises all the way to 34,000 before the keshian slumps in his chair and shakes his head in defeat. 

“Fucking chiss,” he mutters. “As if he hasn’t had enough Jedi over the years.”

The rumbling of the ship gets louder. Merrin doesn’t know if the Empire are aboard now or if the Brood are putting up a better fight than she expected, but with everyone’s attention still focused on the auction, she doesn’t rate her chances of being able to spirit Cal away just yet.

“Anybody else?” Tormo calls, dangling the end of the leash in front of the crowd. “Going once, going twice-”

“35,000!”

The bid leaves Merrin’s mouth before she even really thinks about it. Cal looks at her in surprise but Merrin keeps her composure as the chiss clears his throat and calls, “36.”

“37,” Merrin counters. 

More guards slip out of the room, but when she glances around to try to find the source of the alarm, she’s met only with the cold red stare of the chiss. “38.”

A new siren starts up and a murmur of concern rises up among the guests until Tormo interrupts with a broad, insincere smile, “Nothing to worry about, ladies and gentlemen. Just a system test, that’s all.

Merrin is fairly certain she hears the distant ‘pew’ of blaster fire but she fixes a smile on her face and raises her paddle again. “39,000.”

The chiss hesitates, glancing between Cal and the doors, and Tormo says, “I have 39,000 for the Jedi from my twi’lek friend over here. Any further bids?”

The chiss still seems worried and Merrin looks back to flash him a smirk when Tormo continues, “Going once-”

“45,000” the chiss snaps, pushing himself to his feet. “Final offer. Now wrap this up already, Tormo, before your ‘system test’ gets us all killed.”

Merrin just shakes her head in defeat when Tormo looks to her for confirmation, and a victorious grin spreads across their host’s face. 

“Going once, twice, and sold to the very generous chiss gentlemen at the back! I hope you thoroughly enjoy your purch-”

The ship lurches. The sudden movement knocks a number of the audience off their chairs, and Tormo himself is only saved from falling by the podium in front of him. Cal staggers beside him but manages to stay standing as one of the guards topples backwards off the stage with a yelp. 

The lurch is followed by an explosion down one of the hallways, big enough that Merrin can feel the heat of it even from the auction room, and the confused burble of the crowd switches to a panicked din in an instant.

As soon as the first stormtroopers appear in the doorways, Merrin makes her move.

She takes more pleasure than she probably should in stepping on the leg of the downed yaka as she weaves her way through the shouting crowd toward the stage. Tormo is issuing barked orders to his remaining guards as the guests all fend for themselves, but he keeps Cal’s leash looped tight around his hand as he backs up to the wall and begins to make for the exit. 

Merrin lets the twi’lek disguise drop as she teleports across the room in a green swirl of magick and she smiles at the way Tormo’s mouth falls open in fear when she reappears directly in front of him. 

Magick builds in her hands, her rage finally finding its rightful release, and she knows her eyes are glowing when she looks at Tormo. “Release him.”

Sweat beads on Tormo’s pale skin but when Cal tries to pull away from him, he just drags him closer until his arm is hooked around Cal’s throat. Bound and unarmed, Cal kicks out as much as the loose shackles around his ankles will allow but he goes still when Tormo presses his blaster to his head. 

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” he says, and Merrin doesn’t know whether he’s talking to her or Cal. “Now, I don’t know what the fuck you are or how you got in here but why don’t you go sit back down, or I blow the Jedi’s brains out.”

“And give up all that money?” Merrin asks. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You never know,” Tormo says, digging the blaster harder against Cal’s temple. “I’m sure there are a lot of people who’d be happy enough to pay for a corpse.”

A second explosion reverberates through the room, followed by another flurry of blaster fire, but Merrin keeps her attention focused on Tormo as she takes a careful step closer. 

“The Empire is coming for you. For him,” she warns. “Do you really want to see what the Second Sister will do to you if you kill him?”

Tormo gulps, and Cal chokes as his arm tightens against his neck. “I- I can trade him. She offered me money, I can-”

He stops abruptly when a whistling sound fills the air. 

It seems to be coming from above them and getting closer rapidly, and Merrin shifts her magic from attack to defense in preparation for some kind of bomb to land.

She blinks in surprise, however, when instead of a bomb, a small squealing droid catapults itself out of a ventilation shaft in the ceiling and collides hard with Tormo’s head.

“The fuck-”

Cal takes advantage of the opportunity to drive his elbows into Tormo’s gut. Tormo’s shout of confusion turns to a shriek of pain when one of the tubes in his lower stomach ruptures, spilling a dark liquid over the floor, and Merrin runs forward to catch Cal as he almost collapses to the ground. 

Still balanced on Tormo’s shoulders, BD-1 lets out a triumphant trill and gestures with his foot to the blaster in Tormo’s hand. 

That same foot then crackles with blue electricity as BD-1 plants it against Tormo’s neck and Merrin watches, astounded, as Tormo rears back in pain, dropping the blaster and slumping motionless to the floor beside it. 

He’s still smoking slightly when BD-1 hops off him, and Merrin looks down, impressed, as BD-1 begins to burn through the restraints on Cal’s ankles. “Good work, droid.”

BD-1 chirrups and clambers up to work on the cuffs pinning Cal’s arms behind his back. 

Retrieving the blaster, Merrin tugs the gag out of Cal’s mouth and hurries to unclip the leash as Cal translates, his voice rough, “BD says good work to you too.”

He looks exhausted, leaning on her for support as BD-1 hops across to sit on Merrin’s shoulders instead of Cal’s. Merrin has dozens of questions but as Tormo stirs on the floor at their feet, she figures that all but one of them can wait for later.

“Which way to the escape pods?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this one! It's been a busy week.

“Wait, isn’t that the Jedi?”

Having barely made it out of the auction room in one piece, Cal freezes at the voice of the guard behind them. 

The hallway is otherwise empty, most of the Brood already engaged in a firefight with the invading stormtroopers, and he can’t stop himself from taking a nervous step back when he and Merrin turn to see two guards.

His heart sinks when he recognises one of them as Bohk, the trandoshan who spent hours guarding his cell, but it’s the other one, a human, who speaks, “Yeah, I’m sure it’s him. Hey!”

The human takes a step towards them, his blaster drawn. 

Without his lightsaber, Cal can’t do much more than raise his hands in self-defense and he looks to Bohk as he pleads, “You don’t need to do this.”

Beside him, BD-1 beeps from Merrin’s shoulders as the eerie glow of magick engulfs Merrin’s hands.

“You will not stop us,” Merrin says, her voice distorting with anger. “We are leaving. Both of us.”

“Like hell you are!” the human snaps. He takes a step forward, his blaster trained on Cal. “Do you have any idea how much that Jedi is worth-”

He doesn’t make it any further before a crackling ball of energy flies from Merrin’s hands. It catches the guard in the chest and he stumbles, looking down in horror as the magick spreads through him like a rot. He chokes and staggers, clutching at his chest, before he and his blaster hit the ground at the same time, faint green smoke still rising off his corpse.

Cal glances over to Bohk, who looks between his dead colleague and Merrin in disbelief.

His radio crackles in the empty hallway and Merrin gathers her magick again as a voice comes over the comm, “Bohk, come in. The Jedi and his accomplice were last seen heading in your direction. Instructions from the boss are to shoot on sight.”

Bohk’s hand moves to the comm instinctively but the magic blazes brighter in Merrin’s fist as she warns, “I wouldn’t.”

“You didn’t see anything,” Cal says hopefully, conscious of how vulnerable he currently is to even one blaster bolt. “Just walk away.”

He holds his breath when Bohk lifts his radio to his mouth but before the magick can shoot from Merrin’s hand again, Bohk says, “N- No sign of the Jedi here, sir. I’ll keep an eye out.”

BD-1 lets out a quiet chirrup but Cal doesn’t move until Bohk has turned on his heel and walked back out in the direction he came from. 

As soon as the door closes behind him, Cal sighs in relief, resting his arm against the wall to keep himself upright. “Shit.”

Merrin’s magick fades as she looks him with concern. “Are you okay?”

A tremor runs through Cal’s thigh and he shifts his weight to his other leg as he musters up a nod. While the stims and the bacta took care of the surface wounds — he needed to be presentable for his future owner, after all — the days of torture have left bone-deep aches which have yet to fade. He feels like he’s dreaming, like the hope of rescue is just some feverish fantasy to fill the time between beatings and electrocutions and worse, and when he looks back at Merrin, he wonders if she’s even really there.

He shivers, more from shame than from cold, but before he can push himself back upright, Merrin is stepping closer and tugging her robe off her shoulders. 

BD-1 hovers in the air beside her for a second before settling back down and Cal blinks when Merrin holds the robe out to him. She’s still clothed — her disguise apparently involved lots of layers — but her arms are bare now and Cal stares at the markings on her forearms as she keeps her arm outstretched. 

He’s never seen them before, didn’t even really think she had them anywhere other than her face, and his brain starts to consider that maybe, _maybe_ this might be real.

“Take it,” Merrin says firmly. “You need clothes and it will take too long to get them off that corpse.”

Cal obeys. The robe is thin but warm when he pulls it on and he wraps it around himself, grateful for even that much fleeting modesty. 

His stomach tightens at the memory of being stripped for inspection, of the greedy hands of potential purchasers pinching and groping at his body, and he feels sick at the knowledge that Merrin saw him like that.

“Here,” Merrin says gently and Cal looks up to see the fallen guard’s blaster in her hand. 

It isn’t his lightsaber but when his hand closes around the metal grip of the weapon, it’s more protection than he’s had in days. 

BD-1 beeps, eyes peeking over Merrin’s shoulder as they start moving forward again, and Cal smiles a little when Merrin jumps at the sound. “What are you-”

“How far?” Cal asks. 

BD-1 beeps again in answer and Cal nods. 

“Sounds good. We’ll stop on the way if we can. Is it guarded?”

BD-1’s confident trill is followed by a pause and a less convincing boop, and Cal purses his lips.

“I guess we can see what it looks like when we get there. Thanks, buddy.”

Merrin looks over at him with a frown. “What is the droid saying? And why is he on my shoulders?”

“He likes to be tall?” Cal offers and gets a squeak of agreement from BD-1. “He says he saw my lightsaber when he was investigating the ship. The storage facility is close to the escape pods; we might be able to get it on the way.”

Merrin hesitates, like she isn’t sure whether to agree to it, but Cal wonders how pathetic he looks that she doesn’t offer any real argument. “We will see when we get there.”

They lapse back into silence as they make their way through the winding passages of the ship. Both BD-1 and Merrin are on high alert, with quiet warning beeps and quick flares of magick coming whenever they sense danger, and Cal tells himself he’s just being equally cautious as he follows along with them. 

His heart is pounding and he isn’t sure whether the tremors still running through him are from adrenaline, exhaustion, or fear, but he does his best to keep pace with Merrin as they head towards the escape pods.

They’re getting close when Cal hears the sound of explosions in the distance, followed by shouting and the thunder of boots against metal as guards run to face off against the invading troopers. The ship lurches, sending Merrin careening into Cal, and Cal can’t stifle his groan of pain as they both go crashing into a wall. 

“What was that?” Merrin asks as she pulls herself to her feet again. 

Still clinging to her shoulders, BD-1 answers with a short string of beeps, and Cal opens his mouth to translate when Merrin reaches out to help him up.

He freezes when he sees Sorc Tormo reaching for him instead.

He’s grinning, that same predatory smile he wore every time he had Cal hauled from his cell to be tormented for the amusement of his audience, and Cal shrinks back before he can stop himself. He waits for Sorc’s hand to come down, to slap him across the cheek, to grab his throat, or just to hold his jaw so he can spit in his face, but when he opens his eyes again, it’s to see Merrin looking at him with concern.

“Cal?”

He shakes his head, clearing the image away, and pulls himself to his feet without touching Merrin’s outstretched hand as he tries to remember what BD-1 was saying.

“I think Trilla’s forces are gaining ground,” he says, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs. “BD-1 says they took out one of the engines.”

BD-1 trills quietly, looking up at Cal anxiously, and Cal wraps the robe tighter around himself as he says, “The storage area’s right ahead. My lightsaber should be there, and then the escape pods are just out the other side. We’re close.”

Still feeling the phantom press of Sorc’s fingers against his jaw, Cal doesn’t respond to BD-1’s enquiry about whether he’s okay as he presses forward.

Even as tired as he is, he can feel the distant hum of his lightsaber and he smacks the door to the storage area in frustration when it doesn’t open.

At his feet, BD-1 gives a polite, tentative squeak, and Cal steps back, embarrassed, as he gestures to the lock. “Sorry, buddy. All yours.”

He can feel Merrin’s eyes on him but he doesn’t look at her as BD-1 gets to work on the door. 

He lets out a happy little trill when it slides open and Cal gives him a weak smile. “Thanks, BD.”

The storage room is bigger than he was expecting, with crates stacked high on shelves stretching up to the ceiling, and Cal inches inside. He reaches out with the force, trying to sense his lightsaber amid the piles of supplies and loot, and relief unfurls in his chest when he feels it. 

Merrin and BD-1 follow him inside, keeping watch by the door, and Cal weaves his way through the shelves as he calls back, “It’s here — let me just get-”

The noise all seems to happen at once. He hears the quiet whoosh of the door closing but then the clattering and yelling and beeping that follow all merge together. Cal whips around, blaster raised, but beyond some toppled shelving by the now-closed door, he can’t see anything other than shelves and boxes.

“Merrin?” he calls. “BD? Are you okay? What happened?”

There’s a familiar laugh from near the doorway and Cal’s blood runs cold when Sorc steps out from behind some shelves. 

There’s a burn mark down one side of his face from the electricity, and the tubes winding through his gut are still sparking and leaking, but there’s a look of grim triumph on his face as he grins at Cal.

“What happened is that you’re predictable, kid,” Sorc says mockingly. “Pathetic, really. The girl and the droid go to all this effort to break you out and it fails because you just need to get your hands on your toy.”

Cal’s legs feel unsteady again as he backs up towards his lightsaber and says, “Didn’t feel like sticking around to be sold into slavery. Sorry.”

Sorc laughs again, bitter this time, and Cal hates the fear that courses through him at the sound. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t feel like having those imperial assholes blow huge fucking holes in my ship,” Sorc says angrily. “I guess neither of us got what we wanted today.”

“Should’ve taken the inquisitor’s deal,” Cal says. His lightsaber is close by, he knows it, but he feels the force splinter and fracture beneath him when he tries to reach out to pinpoint its location. “She doesn’t seem like the kind of person to take no for an answer.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” 

Sorc’s voice echoes through the room as he stalks closer and Cal finds himself backed up against a rack of crates as Sorc appears around the edge of the row of shelves. 

“But what can I say,” Sorc says with a shrug, “I’m a businessman. I hate letting things go for more than they’re worth.”

Cal raises his eyebrows. “I was worth all this? Really? Your base, your ship, all those men? Doesn’t seem like a fair trade.”

That seems to get through, and Cal gulps when he sees Sorc’s eyes narrow. 

Sorc has a blaster of his own in his hands, and Cal braces for a shot but Sorc seems to push his anger down as he forces a tight smile. 

“It ain’t exactly the outcome I was hoping for,” Sorc admits, “but I got options. Still got myself a Jedi, after all. Just need to grab one of those escape pods and I can make a fresh start.”

Cal shakes his head. “If you think I’m going anywhere with you-”

Ignoring him, Sorc just takes a couple of steps closer and continues, “Sure, I might not be able to get a sweet 45k for you with the slavers in the Outer Rim but something’s better than nothing, right?” His eyes trail over him and Cal uses his free hand to cover himself with the robe when Sorc chuckles. “Or maybe I’ll just put you to use. I got contacts in plenty of brothels; I’m sure I could get some decent money for you there.”

“Fuck you,” Cal retorts. 

His blaster shot goes wide, pinging off a plastic crate, but he keeps the firearm raised as he glances over for any sign of life from Merrin or BD-1.

Sorc just smirks and moves nearer, closing half of the gap between them. “Know what I think, kid?”

Cal glowers at him. “I don’t care what you think.”

“I think,” Sorc says pointedly, “that you’re startin’ to get the hang of being owned.” His grin widens when Cal frowns and he nods to him. “Didn’t even take your collar off.”

Cal’s free hand goes to his throat and his face heats when he realises Sorc’s right about the collar. In the rush of the escape, he’d shed the cuffs and the leash, the things that might actually interfere with his ability to get out of there, but after days being bound and beaten, the discomfort of the collar barely registered. 

He needs both hands free to unbuckle it, however, and so he just keeps his blaster trained on Sorc as he says again, with more venom, “Fuck you.”

Sorc shakes his head sadly. “We’re going to have to do something about that mouth though.” He looks down, blaster raised. “And maybe those legs too.”

He pulls the trigger before Cal can fully understand his intentions. Cal’s quick enough to dodge the brunt of it but he cries out in pain when the bolt sears a line across the side of his thigh. He stumbles, grabbing on to the nearest shelves for support, and returns fire with a flurry of blasts. 

The shelves rattle as Sorc ducks against them to avoid the shots and Cal reaches out with the force instead. After days of struggling against forcefields and solid restraints, it almost comes as a surprise when the boxes on the shelves respond to the pressure of the force and Cal hears Sorc shout in pain as the heavy boxes come clattering down on top of him.

There’s nowhere for Cal to retreat to and he looks around the shelves in search of his lightsaber as Sorc crawls free of the boxes, blood streaming down from his nose. 

Cal deflects a blaster shot aimed for his head with a box lid but the fear is too loud and insistent for him to concentrate on the call of his lightsaber as Sorc approaches, bloodstained teeth bared in a grin.

“I figure Jedi need a firm hand, right?” Sorc says, and Cal flinches as a blaster bolt just misses his foot. “All that shit about rules and order. No wonder you’re so weak without someone to keep you in line.”

“Shut up,” Cal snaps. 

His shot grazes Sorc’s arm but Sorc’s smile doesn’t fade as he draws closer. “Don’t worry, kid. You ask nice and maybe I’ll even let you call me master.”

Cal lunges at him with a yell but he doesn’t make it more than a step before he sees a flare of green behind the shelves to his right. 

“Cal, watch out!”

Merrin’s voice is weak but before he can worry too much about her injuries, the green light glows brighter and he has to scramble backward to avoid being crushed by the toppling shelves. 

The boxes rain down around him as the falling shelves have a domino effect in the cramped storage room, sending more crates and supplies flying, and Cal raises his arms to protect himself as he waits for the cacophony of crashes to come to an end.

Distantly, he hears Sorc bellow in pain but, crouched in the corner, he squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself to focus on nothing except the familiar echo of his lightsaber.

It grows louder, the hum of the kyber crystal rising above the din of falling crates, and Cal drops the blaster as he holds his hand open for it. The pull of it makes his palm ache, his fingers flexing as he pleads silently for the force to be with him here and now, but his heart soars when he hears a familiar metallic clink.

Wrestling itself free of a storage box, the lightsaber comes flying into Cal’s hand and when the blue blade ignites, Cal feels safer than he has in days.

Waving the biggest of the boxes aside with his free hand, he climbs out over the fallen shelves and is immediately met by a fresh volley of blaster shots from Sorc. The first couple go wide but the rest bounce back at him off the lightsaber and Cal can’t contain his satisfaction when he watches Sorc pale in fear.

“Shit…”

Sorc scrambles backward, firing off more shots, but he lets out a cry of pain when two are reflected back into the tangle of wires that make up his abdomen. His blaster goes flying when another bolt hits his wrist and Sorc looks up at Cal with a mixture of fear and outrage as he spits, “You little fuck-”

The lightsaber buzzes as it cuts through the air and Sorc ducks out of Cal’s reach with a yelp. “Fuck! Okay, okay! Keep that fucking thing away from me!”

“We’re leaving,” Cal says. It’s an effort to keep his voice level, and he can’t stop days of helpless anger seeping through into his tone when he says, “You don’t try to stop us and you don’t come after us, understand?”

Sorc nods, sweat running down his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.”

“Greez doesn’t owe you anything else,” Cal says firmly. “You don’t come near him, or me, or any other Jedi again, or I swear I’ll-”

He doesn’t finish the threat, can’t really find the words for how much he wants to make Sorc suffer, but the message seems to get through anyway.

“No more debts,” Sorc agrees, not taking his eyes off the lightsaber as Cal holds it over him. “We’re square. Sure.”

There’s a soft cry from across the room, followed by concerned beeps, and Cal doesn’t take his eyes off Sorc even as he turns his head slightly in BD-1’s direction. “Is she okay?”

BD-1 whistles, sounding worried, and Cal holds his saber to Sorc’s throat in one final warning before he turns away to help Merrin. 

He picks his way over the fallen shelves, guided by the red flash of BD-1’s lights, and he winces when he sees the bleeding gash on Merrin’s temple and the shelves laying heavily against her legs. She stirs when he approaches, squinting against the light, and the last of the magick clinging to her fingers fades when she gives him a faint smile. “Cal…”

“It’s okay,” Cal promises. “We’re going to get out of here.”

It’s echoed by BD-1 who bounces anxiously by Merrin’s head as Cal lifts the shelves off her and helps her pulls herself free. The shelves fall back down with a clatter and Cal crouches beside her to help her to her feet. “The escape pods are right through here.”

Merrin blinks, dazed. “Sorc- He…”

“I know,” Cal says. “We got him, it’s okay. He won’t come after us.”

“No, he-”

Her words are accompanied by a blare of alarm from BD-1 but pain sears through Cal’s back before he can process the warning. He yells, dropping to his knees, and reaches behind him to feel blood pour from the wound when Sorc pulls the knife out, laughing.

“Nice try, kid,” Sorc says from somewhere above him, “but I’m the one making the demands here. And I sure as shit ain’t backing off at the order of some slave-”

Cal’s lightsaber cleaves through him before he can get the word out. 

It’s a messy strike, more of a flail in Sorc’s direction than a clean blow, but it does the job. Sorc’s eyes go wide, lips falling slack as he looks down at himself, and Cal grimaces when Sorc’s body collapses to the floor in two pieces.

Blood and oil pool beneath him, the wires sparking in the severed circuits, but the pain outweighs the relief as Cal feels more blood flows from the stab wound in his back. BD-1 looks between him and Merrin, like he isn’t sure who to help first, and Cal grits his teeth as he pushes himself to his feet, hauling Merrin with him.

The movement pulls at the wound, making him cry out, but Cal doesn’t meet Merrin’s concerned gaze when she stammers, “C-Cal, you’re bleeding.”

“We need to get out,” he says, as the ship lurches ominous again. “This way.”

“Cal!”

BD-1 sounds equally annoyed when he beeps at him, flitting in front of Cal’s face, and Cal meets his eyes as he says, “Buddy, please. Just help us get out of here.”

BD-1 looks like he’s going to argue but settles for a mournful whistle as he settles back on the ground. He scuttles ahead of them, opening the door on the far side of the storage room, and Cal gives him a nod of thanks as they limp towards it.

Cal honestly doesn’t know who’s supporting who as he and Merrin stagger out of the room and make a beeline towards the waiting escape pods on the other side. 

Two have already departed when BD-1 opens up a third and Cal whips around, adrenaline racing through his system as two guards come running in.

BD-1 crackles menacingly beside him and too drained to even speak, Cal just ignites his lightsaber as a silent warning.

Thankfully, the guards pick self-preservation over duty and Cal doesn’t bother to hide his relief when they ignore him in favor of dashing to another pod on the opposite side of the room. 

Cal drags himself inside their empty pod, collapsing on the floor beside Merrin rather than making it into a seat, and he tries to cling onto consciousness as he watches BD-1 seal the door behind them. 

BD-1 hops beside him, worried, but Cal shakes his head. “Just get us out of here, BD. We’ll be all right.”

The pod shakes as it launches, jettisoning them out into the safety of space, and as the blackness clawing at the edge of his vision finally swallows him up, Cal really hopes that his last words weren’t a lie.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay with this - it's been a rough couple of weeks. This story is finally finished though, with an extra long 5k chapter to close it out. Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading/commenting/kudosing - I've really enjoyed writing this and seeing your reactions. <3

Cal wakes up expecting another jolt of electricity.

He isn’t sure how long he passed out for this time but there’s a deep ache in his body now rather than just the lingering sting of the shocks which Sorc had been taking such joy in delivering. He cracks an eye open, bracing himself for the red lights of the holocams and Sorc’s sneering face, but blinks in confusion when all he sees is his room on the _Mantis_. 

“What-”

Not ruling out some kind of hallucination — Sorc has drugged him before — Cal props himself up on an elbow but instantly drops back down with a groan when the movement sends sharp agony spiking through his back. He gasps, squeezing his eyes shut in pain, but when he opens them again, the _Mantis_ is still there. 

The blanks begin to fill themselves in slowly. 

The electric shocks weren’t a dream, but neither were the auction or the greedy hands of the bidders or Merrin in disguise as she drew him into an echo. He concentrates on just breathing while he pieces everything together — Sorc’s death, his injury, their escape — and he blinks back tears as he realises that this is real, that he’s actually out.

“Was that-”

“-check.”

He catches fragments of conversation from deeper in the ship but a moment later, Cere appears around the door. A smile spreads across her face when she sees him and Cal can’t help but return it as Cere calls, “He’s awake!”

Cal hears the thump of footsteps and the trill of beeps in the distance as Greez, Merrin and BD-1 come running, and he looks up at Cere as he says, “I’m not dead, right?”

Cere’s smile widens. “Not dead,” she promises. “You were badly injured though. We treated that stab wound as best we could but it’ll be another few days before you’re back at fighting strength.”

Cal nods, trying to prop himself up, and Cere comes forward to help move him to a sitting position. The stab wound aches but it feels numb around the edges, the effects of bacta gel and stims, and Cal looks over the rest of his body as the others hurry into the room behind Cere. 

He’s dressed in his old clothes, which is a relief after days spent stripped mostly naked for Sorc’s viewers, and he can feel the itch of bandages around his midriff as he shifts position.

BD-1 hops up onto the bed beside him, beeping out a flurry of questions as he scans Cal’s face with concern, and Cal can’t keep from smiling when he reaches out to pat him on the head. “Yeah, I’m fine, buddy. Just a couple of aches and pains, that’s all.”

BD-1’s answering beep is dubious and Cal figures it’s a sign of how rough he looks that BD-1 just stays close to his side rather than clambering up to his usual spot on his shoulders.

“Did we make it out?” Cal asks, giving BD-1 another pat as he looks up at his other three visitors. Merrin is still injured too, supporting herself on what looks like a pair of Greez-sized crutches that have been taped together, but Cere and Greez seem unharmed. “Are the Brood and Trilla still chasing us?”

“I think they’ll both be chasing us for a while,” Cere says, “but they’re not on our trail right now. We made it to hyperspace before they noticed you were off the ship; they won’t find us any time soon.”

A weight lifts as Cal nods again and he finds himself remembering how to breathe.

“Thank you,” he says, looking between the three of them. “I don’t know how you did it all but thank you for finding me.” 

BD-1 beeps pointedly and Cal manages a smile as he corrects, “Thank you for getting both of us out of there.”

He’s met with sympathetic looks from his crewmates and he drops his eyes down to his hands, unable to hold their gazes for more than a couple of seconds. Shame claws at his chest, the phantom burn of all those eyes and cameras watching him be dismantled so thoroughly, and it’s only when Cere starts speaking that Cal realises he spaced out for a moment.

“We wouldn’t have been able to find you without your help,” she says. “You did well in there, Cal.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Cal says, although it doesn’t come out quite as lighthearted as he hoped. “Sorc was the one who did all the work; I didn’t even have to fight anything this time.”

“You survived,” Cere says firmly. “I know how hard that can be.”

BD-1 nods in agreement but Cal shakes his head. “Wasn’t like I had much of a choice. Sorc didn’t want me dead — people don’t pay as much for a corpse.”

“Cal-” Cere starts but Cal’s grateful when Greez cuts in, rubbing two of his hands together. 

“You want some food?” he asks. “You’ve been out for a while; you’ve gotta be starving. I got some fresh vacuum flowers I’ve been saving — how about I rustle us up some grub, huh?”

Not waiting for Cal’s response, he elbows Cere’s thigh and says, “Come help me out. These things are delicate — I could use an extra pair of hands.”

It isn’t the most subtle deflection but Cal’s thankful that Cere doesn’t argue. He tenses up as she looks over him but there’s nothing but sympathy in her gaze when she hesitates before following Greez out of the room, saying, “Take it easy. That wound will take a few days to heal up.”

Cal nods and swings his legs off the bed once Greez and Cere retreat. The room feels less claustrophobic with just Merrin and BD-1 with him, and Cal’s grateful that Merrin gives him space instead of trying to help him as he gets carefully to his feet. “How’s your leg?”

Merrin wrinkles her nose. “Broken,” she admits, “but healing.” She taps her taped-together crutch against the floor. “We decided it was too risky to stop anywhere for supplies. Apparently these were left over from when Greez sprained his ankle falling over in the shower.”

Cal smiles, more out of politeness than actual amusement, and says, “I’m sorry you got hurt because of me.”

“I got hurt because some shelves fell on me,” Merrin corrects. “Not because of you.”

Cal levels a skeptical stare in her direction. “You know what I mean. You were only in danger because you came to get me out.” 

Merrin frowns but her tone is one of confusion rather than annoyance when she says, “Why are you so eager to take the blame for this? I knew the risks when I chose to infiltrate the auction but that was my decision, not yours.”

BD-1 beeps in agreement from his perch on the bed. Their insistence does nothing to alleviate the guilt gnawing away at him but he’s too sore and exhausted to argue further. “That was a good disguise, by the way,” he says. “At the auction. I didn’t know you could do that.”

Merrin shrugs but Cal thinks he sees a faint blush cover her cheeks. “It’s a simple spell. We thought a disguise would draw less attention than a nightsister.”

“Good call,” Cal says. “I’m sure Sorc would’ve been happy to have a nightsister to sell too.” 

The thought of Merrin being stripped down and sold like he was makes him grimace, but it’s replaced by embarrassment at the memory of his reaction before he knew it was her, at the fear he didn’t manage to hide. 

“Did you tell them what happened?” he asks. “About the auction and the escape?”

Merrin nods. “I summarised,” she says, “but I didn’t tell them anything more than they needed to know.”

It’s a tactful response from a woman mostly known for being blunt and Cal’s lips part in surprise as he stammers, “Oh. I-” He swallows hard and gives her a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

The bluntness is back when Merrin shrugs. “No thanks needed. They may have drawn some of their own conclusions about you wearing my robe when they found us though.”

Cal smiles in spite of himself. It’s an embarrassing thought but nowhere close to the shame of being bound and groped by potential buyers. “I thought it looked okay on me,” he says. “Not really my color though.”

“I’ve seen your poncho collection,” Merrin teases. “I don’t think you can really talk about colors.”

“Hey, that pink really brings out my eyes,” Cal says with feigned offence. 

That draws a laugh from Merrin and she takes a step closer as BD-1 makes his own quiet complaint about Cal’s wardrobe choices. 

“You look better,” Merrin says. “There was a lot of blood when you passed out in that escape pod. I didn’t know whether they would pick us up in time.”

“I’m persistent,” Cal says with a small shrug. “Anyway, I didn’t want to die right after you’d gone to all the trouble of breaking me out.”

Merrin shakes her head, faintly amused, and Cal holds her gaze as he says, “I know what a risk you took to get me out, and how much danger you would’ve been in if you got caught. Thank you, Merrin.”

“It’s been a long time since I had a friend,” she admits. “I didn’t want to lose the only one I have now.”

At Cal’s side, BD-1 lets out a soft boop and Cal smiles. “He says you have more than one.”

Merrin tilts her head, processing this information, but soon returns the smile. “I am glad.” Her gaze lingers on Cal’s hair for a second and she reaches out, presumably to fix it, as she says, “You should rest. You still need-”

If she finishes speaking, Cal doesn’t hear it. For a second he sees Sorc standing over him, reaching out to grip his jaw, to tug on his hair, to smack him across the face, and he flinches back with a cry. His legs hit the edge of the bed and he drops hard to a sitting position, the pain in his wound snatching his breath away, and when he blinks again, he looks up to see Merrin staring at him, eyes wide and hand still outstretched. “What-”

“I- I’m sorry,” Cal stammers. He wants to stand back up, reassure her it was nothing, but his heart is pounding hard enough that he can’t seem to draw in a full breath, let alone make his legs work. 

Merrin looks almost hurt as she lowers her hand, which only makes Cal feel worse. “Are you okay? Should I get Cere?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I’m fine, I just- I’m fine.”

Beside him, BD-1 whirrs with worry and Cal pats him absently. “It was nothing. Sorry to scare you. I’m just tired.”

Merrin backs up, looking unconvinced. “I’ll let you rest.”

“You don’t need-” Cal tries but she’s gone before he can put together the rest of the excuse. 

He closes his eyes, struggling to get his breathing under control as he reminds himself that Sorc’s gone, that he’s safe now, and when BD-1 nudges anxiously at his thigh, Cal says, more to himself than to the droid, “I’m okay. Everything’s okay.”

BD-1 beeps sadly and Cal tries to sound as confident as he can when he says, “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m fine.”

———

“He is not fine.”

Merrin’s makeshift crutch clacks against the floor of the _Mantis_ as she lowers herself to a seat on the couch, and Greez looks up at her over his crossword. “Who?”

“Cal,” Merrin says. “He keeps saying he is fine but he’s not.”

Greez looks over to Cere with feigned shock. “He’s not? Wow. Next you’ll be telling me I have four arms.” He glances down at his hands. “Oh my god.”

Cere shakes her head with a tiny smile but Merrin just glares at him. “You are not funny.” Her glare softens as she looks down at her hands. “I’m worried about him.”

Greez sighs. Her worry isn’t without cause; both she and Cal were in bad shape when the _Mantis_ picked up the escape pod. Healing stims and bacta gel had managed to help with most of the physical wounds, although Merrin’s broken leg and Cal’s nasty stab wound are taking longer to fix, but despite two days of newfound freedom, Cal still hasn’t been himself yet.

“Torture has that effect,” Cere says. “You find yourself expecting pain all the time, even when you know it’s not coming.”

“But we’re not going to hurt him,” Merrin says, and despite everything she’s been through, she sounds almost naive. “We’re trying to help.”

“I know,” Cere says, and Greez is glad it’s her rather than him who’s on comfort duty. “He just needs some time. I think the best thing we can do is carry on like normal. We’ll be back on Bogano in a few days; hopefully the vault will be able to keep him focused.”

“Keep who focused?”

Cal’s voice comes from the hallway behind the kitchen and the three of them look over as he walks in to join them. He’s still too pale, with the dark circles under his eyes almost looking like bruises, and he holds himself carefully as he sits on the stairs next to the terrarium, BD-1 in his usual spot beside him. 

Greez opens his mouth to offer some weak cover-up but Merrin answers first. 

“You,” she says bluntly. “We are worried about you.”

Cal frowns. “I’m fine,” he says, holding his arms out in demonstration. “All rescued, remember?” He glances over at Cere and Greez. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

He’s already thanked them at least five times, most of them when he was too incoherent to remember, but Greez doesn’t push the issue.

“You’re not fine,” Merrin says, irritation bleeding through. “I thought you would be okay after we rescued you but you’re not. You talk in your sleep; you flinch every time there’s a loud noise; and you check the doors every few seconds to make sure no-one there. None of that is fine!”

Greez exchanges a look with Cere, who reaches out to put a hand on Merrin’s shoulder.

For his part, Cal’s cheeks are scarlet with shame and he looks down at his hands as he stammers, “I- I don’t- I’m fine.” He tries for a smile and an attempt at confidence. “Look, I’m not going to say that what happened with the Brood was fun but it’s over. The wound from Sorc is still healing but otherwise I’m fine now, and I’m ready to get that holocron.”

“You-”

“Merrin,” Cere cuts in. “That’s enough.” Her tone softens slightly but there’s still an authoritative edge to it when she says, “Can you go down to the engine bay and check if I left my wrench down there? You have better vision in the dark than I do.”

It’s a pretty weak attempt at pawning Merrin off with busy-work and Merrin looks between Cere and Cal with a huff of annoyance before stalking off to the ladder down to the ship’s innards. Cal keeps his head lowered, picking nervously at a loose thread on his sleeve as he braces for another argument, and Greez gets to his feet as he says, “I’ll go check on our progress. I’ll be in the cockpit if you need me.”

Their progress is fine, the autopilot steering them on a low-speed, low-risk route to Bogano, but Cere gives him a grateful nod as she moves to the end of the couch closest to Cal. She keeps her voice low enough that Greez can’t hear what she’s saying and it’s only with a small amount of indecision that he settles in his chair in the cockpit and flicks on the ship’s intercom.

He doesn’t make a habit of eavesdropping on his crew members — hell, it’s rare that he has enough crew members to eavesdrop on — but given that what happened to Cal is his responsibility, he figures his recovery is his responsibility too.

“-worried about you. We all are.”

“I know.” Cal’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Cere says. “You don’t need to be anything. You don’t have to pretend everything’s okay around us, Cal. I know how difficult it is to deal with something like this.”

“It’s nothing,” Cal says. “Not compared to what happened to you with the Empire. You said you were held captive for months; I was barely with Sorc for a week. He didn’t even hurt me that badly.”

“Length of time doesn’t always matter,” Cere says carefully. “Order 66 was over in an instant but we all still carry those scars.”

“That isn’t the same. People died then. This was just… a beating. Or the equivalent.” He pauses and Greez fights the urge to look back at them. “I’ve had my ass kicked before. I don’t know why this time is so hard.”

The feeling of guilt is suffocating and Greez takes a slow breath as he listens to the confusion and distress in Cal’s voice. 

When it comes, Cere’s response is gentle and understanding, moreso than Greez could ever manage. “Because it’s different to losing a fight. You can prepare for a fight, and if you lose and survive, you can learn from it, train harder, correct your mistakes the next time. Torture is different. There’s nothing you can do to make it better; everything that happens is out of your control.”

“No,” Cal says, “I could’ve done something. I could’ve escaped somehow.”

“You did escape,” Cere reminds him. “You made it out.”

“With help,” Cal says bitterly “Merrin and BD had to put themselves in danger to get me out.”

“Because they’re your friends,” Cere says. “You’ve put yourself in danger for us plenty of times. It’s only fair that we’re allowed to return the favour.”

“It shouldn’t have come to that. I’m a Jedi, I should’ve been stronger,” he says, quiet but determined. “I need to be better.”

“Cal, you survived,” Cere says. “That’s all you needed to do, and you did it. Trust me, if you keep obsessing over what you could’ve done differently, this will eat you up inside. Just focus on the outcome. We’re all alive and safe and we’re going to get that holocron.”

Cal is silent for a long moment and it’s Cere who speaks again next, “You’re still healing. That was a nasty wound — you’ll feel better when you’re healthy again. Get some rest, Cal.”

An agreeing beep comes from BD-1 but Cal doesn’t sound convinced when he says, “Sure. More rest. Can’t wait.”

“You need it,” Cere points out. “Go. I’ll bring you some tea.”

Greez hears Cal’s quiet wince as he gets to his feet and he clicks the intercom off when it seems like the conversation is over. 

It wasn’t as reassuring as he’d hoped, despite the wisdom of Cere’s words, and as he watches the stars rush past outside the window, he feels like it’s going to take more than just some rational advice for Cal to feel better.

———

Greez knows it’s also going to take more than a warm drink of strong alcohol to fix Cal’s problems but as he watches him twitch and cry out in his sleep, it’s the best solution Greez has on hand.

Cal’s eyes are squeezed shut, his lips moving in soft pleas of “No” and “Stop”, and Greez braces himself for a lightsaber through the sternum when he reaches out with a free hand to pat Cal gently on the shoulder. “Come on, kid. Wake up for me.”

Cal jerks awake at the contact, hands raising in self-defence. His eyes are wide and frightened, and Greez holds his own hands up as he says, “You were talking in your sleep again.”

“Oh.” Cal winces as he sits up, glancing over to where BD-1 is in shutdown mode beside his bed. “Sorry, Greez. I’ll keep it down.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. It’s only you and me awake anyway.” He holds out a steaming mug to Cal as he takes a sip from his own. “Figured you might need something to help you sleep.”

Cal takes it with suspicion but shrugs when the smell seems to meet with his approval. The cider is standard but the heat and the spices are a Greez special and Greez grins in triumph when Cal takes a sip and looks at it in surprise. “That’s good.”

“I’ll try not to be offended that you sound so shocked by that,” Greez says, taking a seat on the bed next to him as Cal sits up, cupping the mug in both hands. “Whether you need a nap or a buzz, this should have you covered.”

Cal nods, taking another sip, and he glances over at Greez as he asks, “Did I wake you?”

“Nah,” Greez says. “Couldn’t sleep anyway. I figured checking in on you was probably better than doing laundry.”

Cal smiles a little at that. “Thanks, I guess?”

“You’re welcome,” Greez says. “Anyway, how’re you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Cal says, looking down at his drink. 

It’s clearly a lie, especially after what Greez just overheard, but Greez opts not to push it.

“Good,” he says. “I’m glad one of us is doing all right.”

Cal glances up in surprise. “You’re not okay?”

“Hell no,” Greez says. “I know I come off as calm and collected — and I am, mostly — but it feels pretty shitty to watch a friend of mine get put through the wringer because of something I did.” He takes a swig of his drink. “Guilt’s a hell of a thing.”

Cal frowns. “You feel guilty for what happened with Sorc?”

“You got tortured and nearly sold into slavery because I couldn’t walk away from a bad bet when I saw one,” Greez points out. “Of course I feel guilty. So if you wanna take a swing or something, go ahead.”

Cal blinks, confused. “I don’t want to hit you, Greez.”

“Well, that’s good,” Greez says, slightly surprised. “How about yelling? Insulting my cooking? You’re due some kind of payback.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Cal says, shaking his head. “What happened with Sorc wasn’t your fault.”

“You’re kidding, right? I feel like that asshole made it pretty clear why he was doing what he did. Fuck, he even had you thank me for it.”

Cal hunches in on himself at just the mention of it, eyes fixed on his drink. “I didn’t mean it,” he says, and Greez hates how apologetic he sounds. “They had BD. They would’ve hurt him. I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know, kid,” Greez says. “Even if they didn’t have the droid, no-one would’ve blamed you for doing what Sorc told you, least of all me.” Cal glances up, almost looking for approval, and Greez holds his gaze as he says, “All that they put you through, kid… I would’ve caved right away. But you kept fighting. Even with that venom they used-”

Cal freezes at that, eyes going wide, and Greez could swear he’s stopped breathing when he asks, “You saw that?”

Greez frowns. “Yeah? Sorc had that whole set up with the holocams.”

Cal shudders at the mention of them but shakes his head. “I- I thought you were only watching for the first two days, with the water and the whip. Sorc said that was all you got to see.”

“Those were the only two we were invited to,” Greez says. “Their encryption was no match for Cere though. She got us in to the rest of the broadcasts; that’s how we found out about the auction.”

Cal’s face is paler than Greez has ever seen it when he asks, devastated, “You saw everything? All three of you?”

“No,” Greez says quickly. “Cere and Merrin didn’t want to watch. Not that I really did either but I figured at least one of us should know what was happening. See if I could pick up any clues on where you were.”

There are tears in Cal’s eyes when he looks up at him. “I didn’t know,” he says. “I’m sorry. If I’d known you were watching, I would’ve- I should’ve tried to give you more information.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Greez says, reaching out to rest a hand against Cal’s arm. He flinches at the touch but doesn’t pull away, and Greez tries to keep his voice as low and steady as possible when feels how badly Cal’s hands are shaking. “You did good, kid. Really good. There’s nothing more you could’ve done.”

Cal scoffs at that, scrubbing a hand over his face before any tears can fall. “Right,” he says sarcastically. “‘Cause I put on such a good show for Sorc’s viewers.”

“I mean it,” Greez says. “I saw all of it, kid. I wish I hadn’t but I did, and I can promise you that you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

A couple of tears trickle down Cal’s cheeks as he looks away, and he swipes at them angrily. Greez doesn’t know what he’s thinking about but between the memories of Sorc parading Cal for the cameras, of Sorc’s men using whips, venom, electricity and god knows what else on their captive, and of Cal begging for it to stop, he can take a decent guess what’s occupying Cal’s thoughts. 

“None of us think any less of you,” Greez says honestly. “I know Sorc treated you like shit in there but that says more about him than you.”

Cal shakes his head, clearly unconvinced, and Greez gives his arm a gentle squeeze. “Look, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, kid. Nothing I saw on those broadcasts changed that, even for a second. Hell, just the opposite. Me, I would’ve folded instantly.”

“I couldn’t fold,” Cal says quietly, and when he looks back up at Greez, he doesn’t seem to be aware that he’s crying. “They didn’t want anything from me. I don’t know whether I would’ve given it up or not but they never asked, not for information or surrender or anything.” 

He sounds so young when he admits, his voice wretched with shame, “They only wanted to hurt me. There was nothing I could do to make it stop. They just- It just kept going.” He shakes his head, cheeks wet with tears. “What kind of Jedi just lets that happen to them?”

If Greez thought the feeling of guilt was bad before, it becomes even more crushing at the sight of Cal like this. Saying the right thing was never his specialty, especially not in this type of situation, and he takes a moment to wait for the ache in his chest to subside as he fumbles for a response.

“I’m no expert on Jedi,” he says eventually, “but most of them are dead, right?”

Cal blinks at him, brows knitted together in confusion. “Yes.”

“You’re not,” Greez says. “I know it probably doesn’t feel like it now but that’s something to be proud of right there.”

Cal shakes his head. “My master…”

“I know he helped you survive at the start,” Greez says, “but that was what, five years ago? You’re the one who’s kept yourself alive for this long, not him. I’ve seen enough of Bracca to know that living down there couldn’t have been easy, especially not for a kid, but you survived it. Just like you survived all this business with the holo-whatsit-”

“Holocron.”

“Right. And on top of that, you survived everything Sorc threw at you. That’s a hell of an achievement.”

From the hopeful look on Cal’s face, he wants to believe him and Greez squeezes his arm in encouragement when he says, “You’re alive and you’re free, Cal. It might not feel like it sometimes but that counts for more than you know.”

Cal nods mutely, lips pressed together like he doesn’t trust himself to speak, and Greez decides to throw caution to the wind. Once again grateful for latero biology, he holds his mug out to the side and leans in to give Cal a hug with his spare set of arms. Cal tenses up in confusion, which Greez honestly can’t blame him for, but he soon relaxes into it, careful not to spill his own drink when he returns the hug as best he can.

Pulling back, Greez gives him a smile. “You did good, kid. Now take it easy for once in your life until that giant hole in your back has healed up.”

Cal wipes at his eyes and says, in an attempt at teasing, “You gonna tell me to get some sleep as well?”

“Hell, no,” Greez says. “What am I, your babysitter? As long as you don’t start bleeding on my ship again, you stay up as late as you want.” He meets Cal’s eyes and says firmly, “Just don’t sit here being angry at yourself for what happened. Not when you should be proud instead.”

He’s pleased that the words actually seem to have sunk in when Cal nods. “Thanks for the drink, Greez.”

“My pleasure,” Greez says, getting to his feet and adding, “although if you have a hangover tomorrow morning, don’t blame me.”

Cal smiles at that and raises his mug in a silent toast which Greez returns. The silence that follows is peaceful and Greez takes a large swig of his drink as he heads back out, leaving Cal to hopefully have a more peaceful night’s rest.

Despite his assertions, Cal definitely isn’t fine, not after everything Sorc did to him, but as Greez downs the rest of his drink and settles back into his own bunk, he’s confident that it won’t be permanent. 

He’s a strong kid. Sure, he may not be fine now, but someday he will be.


End file.
